I cannot say my lady is to you,
Who estimate her beauties from afar,
Of more renown than yonder little star
That struggles faintly in the dusty blue.
Doubt your own senses, blame your point of view,
Be with yourself, or aught but her, at war
For were you standing where the angels are,
Wonder would balk your judgment of her due.
Her orbit circles through a higher zone
Than mankind reckon in their highest flight;
And heaven, not earth, is glad that she is bright.
I, only I, approach her; I alone
Bask in her blaze, a grateful satellite,
And to her world my darkened side is shown.