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?'