Love (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.