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.

Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.

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