Love

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lacked anything.

‘A guest,’ I answered, ‘worthy to be here’: Love said, ‘You shall be he.’ ‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear! I cannot look on thee.’ Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, ‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve.’ ‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘who bore the blame? ‘My dear, then I will serve.’ ‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’ So I did sit and eat.