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 metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight;
Joys in anothers loss of ease
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.


(William Blake)