The Clod and the Pebble

by William Blake

　　'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.'