"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 another’s loss of ease And builds a hell in heaven’s despite."