The speaker looks at the moon’s soft glow and then shifts his gaze to faraway stars, which burn brighter but feel cold and unreachable. He realizes he doesn’t need those distant glories; the moon’s nearness, its gentle warmth, is what truly matters. This becomes his way of saying that Mary doesn’t have to be the most dazzling person in the room. Others may have “brighter eyes,” but her steady, intimate presence is all he wants—she’s the comforting light that guides him home.
In the second half, he watches moonlight shimmer on a stream after a rainy day and thinks about how the moon shines on countless brooks, yet each brook sees only its own reflection. That image captures his feeling perfectly: many lovers may look toward Mary, but for him, there is only one woman in the world. The mood is quiet, deeply personal, and wrapped in the kind of tenderness that comes from choosing one person and feeling utterly content with that choice.