Love
LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slackFrom my first entrance in,Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioningIf 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 shameGo 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.