Love (A Poem by George Herbert)
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 rely, "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," says Love, "and taste my meat." So I did sit and eat. By George Herbert