…from the quills of the dead white poets
George Herbert (1593 – 1633)
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.
‘A guest,’ I answer’s, ‘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 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.