The poem
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.