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 ensueDesire 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.