For You, John Donne

Give me the beauty that doth two embrace,
Not one all by herself to set the score,
The dark epistemology of heart and face
In Conflict bent for Conflict loved--not more.
Give me the aspiration of thine eye
Trained on such targets as both hearts despise,
Without perceiving what time spent might buy
Or what the cost to holiness implies.
Or give me nothing of yourself at all,
Not body, wit, or grace--not passion sweet
Nor tender words that mitigate the fall
I fell when first I saw in you my fate.
For this goodbye I think the angels weep
And devils satisfied do soundly sleep,