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Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; (401)

O modest wantons! wanton modesty! (402)

Showing life's triumph in the map of death, (403)

And death's dim look in life's mortality: (404)

Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife, (406)

But that life lived in death, and death in life.

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