Beyond the glade so shimmering,
Where thrushes fly and swallows sing,
There underneath the fir and oak,
These final words my father spoke:

"Be sure to give your love away,
When you have found you cannot say,
Just what it is you love the most."
And then he was naught but a ghost.

Dear friends, you know I never knew
Just what he meant as years they flew
But then I found it all was clear,
When I did meet my darling dear.

Her eyes were wrought of sparkling gold,
Her charm and talent manifold,
Her hair like lace of ebon night,
Her beauty took up all my sight.

But when she's near, I cannot rest,
Just what of her do I love best?
I love her eyes, her laughter light,
The way her words both kiss and bite.

I love her songs, her charm and grace,
I love the smile that warms her face.
And so I say without a boast,
I never know what I love most.