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.

Last modified 19 February 2010