by George Herbert

    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 on 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.