Love

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

If 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 at thee.'

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame

Go 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.

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