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.