[William A. Baurle]

I have been wracking my brains, shuffling through books, looking for what I mean when I refer to the expression of a sacred, even divine love, which is not just lust. Every animal feels lust, the hardwired imperative to procreate, the itch. That is not what I refer to when I refer to passionate love poems or poetry. It's manifestly evident that some people don't give a tinker's damn about love when it comes to getting their rocks off. As for those people: fine, whatever floats your boat. Have a blast.

But there are also people who see a necessary co-dependence between love and the urge for physical, sexual intimacy. Like myself. I don't go after one-nite-stands, and I would never be with a prostitute. It's all or nuthin' for me. And I know from having many acquaintances that I'm not the only person who feels this way.

Anyway, finally, this beautiful poem popped into my arena of consciousness, and yes, it's about as delicate, as careful, and dare I say, as gentlemanly a way to express devotional love that I can currently bring to mind:

***

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

— William Butler Yeats

I don't know what to make of the Bill Knott poem. I don't quite grasp it. But it seems intensely-felt.

I have not clicked the Lewis or the Livingston links yet, but I will tomorrow.