The clod & the pebble

«Love sceketh 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 metres 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».