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Love

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 lack’d anything.

 ‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘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 marr’d 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.

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