O days and hours, your work is this
      To hold me from my proper place,
      A little while from his embrace,
For fuller gain of after bliss:

That out of distance might ensue
      Desire of nearness doubly sweet;
      And unto meeting when we meet,
Delight a hundredfold accrue,

For every grain of sand that runs,
      And every span of shade that steals,
      And every kiss of toothed wheels,
And all the courses of the suns.


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Last modified 19 February 2010