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.