The clod, or 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 sung a little clod of clay 
 Trodden with the cattle's feet, 
But a pebble of the brook 
 Warbled out these meters 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, “The Clod and the Pebble”