You're a star far from my plain earth.
I gaze and see no man who's above you:
To me you are the cynosure of worth.
There's pleasure, surely, drawn from the reflection
That someone, somewhere, worships your sweet face,
Thinks you are the summit of perfection,
Wants nothing more of life than your embrace.
The danger is you'll think it couldn't be;
So I suggest you see yourself through me
