'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.'