Love seeks not itself to please,nor for itself has any care. But for another gives it ease,and builds a heaven in hell's despair. So whispered a lost soul hardened as clay,in which baked in scorching sun's say. But a soul of the loving race,warbled out those meters to meet. Love seeks only itself to please,to bind another to it's delight,joys in another's loss of ease,and builds hell in heaven's despite. So whispered a lost soul,found in cries of coal.