It gives me wonder, great as my content,
To see you here before me.
SHAKS.: _Othello,_ Act ii., Sc. 1.
Each hour until we meet is as a bird
That wings from far his gradual way along
The rustling covert of my soul,--his song
Still loudlier trilled through leaves more deeply stirr'd:
But at the hour of meeting, a clear word
Is every note he sings, in Love's own tongue.
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI: _Winged Hours,_ Sonnet xv.