THE beauty and the life 
   Of life's and beauty's fairest paragon 
--O tears! O grief!--hung at a feeble thread 
To which pale Atropos had set her knife; 
   The soul with many a groan 
   Had left each outward part, 
And now did take his last leave of the heart: 
Naught else did want, save death, ev'n to be dead; 
When the afflicted band about her bed, 
Seeing so fair him come in lips, cheeks, eyes, 
Cried, 'Ah! and can Death enter Paradise?'