In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 117

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.