The finest wine to touch my lips
Was not as intoxicating,
Neither could its sweetness eclipse,
The magic that we’re creating.

The finest silk to touch my skin
Was ne’er as tender or as light,
Nor did its comfort draw me in,
As your arms do for me at night.

No melody’s been played so fine
To be the the music to my ears,
Nor notes written to such design,
The way your voice always my fears.

The world can offer jewels and gold
And endless gifts as pure as dew,
But not even wisdom of old
Is as precious to me as you.