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In Memoriam A.H.H.
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.
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