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.