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 lack’d anything.
‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘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 marr’d 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.

 

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