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.