by George Herbert

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.