John Donne and theories about funerals

One Bygonnie, Johnnie Donnie, Makes My Studies Worth Their Money

Imagine....
Being so important to another human being,
you are linked, as a unit, fuctioning as one;
inseparable as the feet are joint at the hips,
unforgettable as the mind cherish dreams,
and one's most precious, lingering memories

That's how I felt when I read John Donne's beautiful poem about saying farewell without loads of weeping; perhaps saying exactly what I myself have been trying to say for so long...

EDIT, 17th OF JANUARY: Like an epiphany, I suddenly realized today - whilst analysing this piece during my English seminar-class - how it also, and in the most oddly striking way, reminds me of the relationship between a certain Doctor and his beloved, Rose. Mostly due to our seminar-leader's descriptions of how Donne depicts the connected two worlds of abstract, spiritual sensations and earthal, concrete ones - of course. How love appears in two, inseparable forms; the imperturbable, eternal (thus spiritual) version, and the both contrasting and resulting, yet more physical version; the touch-and-instinct-based, bodily effect. I then immediately spotted the (mostly unspoken) complexity and continuity of these two soulmates' love affair, reflected in lines written centuries ago - by a man to whom a Time Lord's adventures means, as far as we are informed, nothing at all. But with The Doc and Rosie being travellers in time, space and indeed parallell universes - how scary, sorry intriguing, can this possibly be/become??? I mean, who (...) knows where they might have travelled besides the broadcast journeys, in which we, the viewers, have parttaken? :)

(Inspirational ideas are crazy things...)

Anywhoo...true love never dies and - here goes;

A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING.
By John Donne. And NOT me. Hehe.

As virtous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls, to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; '
Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.