The Clod and the Pebble

"Love seeketh not itself to please,  

Nor for itself hath any care,  

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sung a little clod of clay,

Trodden with the cattle's feet;

But a pebble of the brook

Warbled out these meters meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to its delight,

Joys in another's loss of ease,

And builds a hell in heaven's despite."