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?'