The Clod And The Pebble


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 Hells despair.

So sang a little Clod of Clay,

Trodden with the cattles 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 anothers loss of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.


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