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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.