  ASK nothing more of me, sweet: All I can give you I give. Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet; Love that should help you to live, Song that should spur you to soar. All things were nothing to give, Once to have sense of you more, Touch you and taste of you, sweet, Think you and breathe you, and live, Swept of your wings as they soar, Trodden by chance of your feet. I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet; He that hath more let him give; He that hath wings, let him soar; Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live. |
|
