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O touch her with thy heavenly beams,
Bright Moon! that she may know
Within his paradise of dreams
Love died not long ago.
Though Helen's eyes are dust, and she
No more in Ilion sighs,
Love still is Love (tell her) and we
Are but his late allies!
We bear his burning shield and spear,
True knights in Beauty's war —
We who are women's offspring here,
And made for women are.
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