The sun sinks so slowly
In its own memories.
The moon rises gently
To glitter on the seas.
The earth spins eagerly
On a soft, silver breeze,
Yet I glance but briefly
For what compares to eyes like these?

The stars shine quietly
Upon a sky of glass.
Saturn whispers lightly
While the sun beams all pass
To rest, not unkindly,
On the soft summer grass,
Yet your eyes shine brighter
Though these glow like fresh polished brass.

The comets streak brightly
Under pretense of ease.
The clouds run so swiftly,
For they aim but to please.
Moonbeams flow thickly
Resting on leaves of trees,
Yet I compare them not
To your eyes, that tell such stories.