The Clod and the Pebble -- William Blake

Guest poem sent in by Gregory Marton

(Poem #1452) The Clod and the Pebble Love seeketh not Itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair. So sang 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 another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite. -- William Blake

I'm not sure if by ordering the clod first the poem's bent is actually
pessimistic, but in coming upon this from the pebble's passion, I found
myself rejoyced, and remembered to smile. This is in Songs of Experience,
which caught my eye with its illuminated illustrations and pleasant price
at a used book sale. Heaven sends the choicest gems to break Hell's mood!

Your humble Clod,
Gremio

[Martin adds]

Blake's ordering of the verses here reminds me of another of his Songs of
Experience, "A Poison Tree" [Poem #1087]. It has a similar 'dark' structure,
upholding (or seeming to uphold) schadenfreude over selflessness.  Gremio is
right - one would expect the "moral" of the poem to support the clod, and
Blake's letting the pebble have the last word flies in the face of those
expectations, making the modern reader (at least) slightly uneasy.