Love

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin.

But quicked-ey'd Love, Observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew near to me, sweetly questioning, If I lack'd any thing.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:

Love said, You should be he.

I the unkinde, engrateful? ah my deare, I can not look on thee.

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I hav marr'd them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve.

And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?

My deare, then I will serve.

You must sit down, sayes love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert


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