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Love seeketh not Itself to please. Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease. And builds a Heaven in Hells despair. So sung 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 anothers loss of ease. And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.