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 sang 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 (1757-1827)