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.