Love


Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
                                    Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
                                    From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
                                    If I lack'd anything.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
                                    Love said, you shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,
                                    I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
                                    Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have 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.