ALL THAT LOVE ASKS

“All that I ask,” says Love, “is just to stand

And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes;

For in their depths lies largest Paradise.

Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand

Be granted me, then joy I thought complete

Were still more sweet.

“All that I ask,” says Love, “all that I ask,

Is just thy hand-clasp. Could I brush thy cheek

As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak

To tell the bliss in which my soul would bask.

There is no language but would desecrate

A joy so great.

“All that I ask, is just one tender touch

Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing palm in mine,

Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine,

And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch

Turned where I may not seize the supreme bliss

Of one mad kiss.

“All that I ask,” says Love, “of life, of death,

Or of high heaven itself, is just to stand,

Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand,

The while I drink the nectar of thy breath

In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store,

I ask no more.”

“All that I ask” — nay, self-deceiving Love,

Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall,

In place of “all I ask,” say, “I ask all,”

All that pertains to earth or soars above,

All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul,

Love asks the whole,