Love
seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the
cattle's feet;
But a Pebble of the
brook,
Warbled out these
metres meet.
Love
seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight:
Joys in anothers loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.
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