A Donnean Conceit On Intimacy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Poem by Richard Stopps

A Donnean Conceit on Intimacy
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No carnal rite defines our mingled sphere,
But pilgrim steps to tables oft returned;
Where bread and wine grow sacrament when near,
And mirth so deep, to tears itself is turned.

Our clasp, no fevered flame, but tempered fire,
That warms till sleep doth steal upon the breast;
In oft-repeated scenes we never tire,
For sameness, shared, makes common moments blest.

Thy mind and mine, like compasses made one,
Do trace each thought in sympathetic art;
And when thou mov'st, I follow, though undone—
Safe anchored still within thy constant heart.

Thus love's true alchemy is here expressed:
To know the soul, and in that knowing, rest.