Canto CXV

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.