That's unusually cheerful for Donne; at first glance I thought "Robert Herrick." My own favorite of Donne's poems is quite appropriate for the day, though, actually:

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

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two:
The soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th'other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet while the other far doth roam
It leans, and harkens after it,
And grows erect as that comes home.

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

from John Donne, "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning"

(I like the little bawdy joke in the midst of a discourse on spiritual oneness with one's true love. . . .)