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? |