Madrigal II
THE beauty and the lifeOf life’s and beauty’s fairest paragon,O tears! O grief! hung at a feeble threadTo which pale Atropos had set her knife;The soul with many a groanHad left each outward part,And now did take its last leave of the heart;Nought else did want, save death, even 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?’