E-Text

The Poems of William Blake

THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE

"Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care,

But for another gives it ease,

And builds a heaven in hell's despair."

So sang 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."

Cite this page