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Oh she is proud as the virtuous goddess
Flashing a fate that is sterner than death;
Oh she is calm, and her blossoming bodice
Never is swayed with a passionate breath.

Oh she is cold as the Moon is to Pierrot
Mocking his dreams and his wistful desires;
And she smiles like a Valkyr smiles on a hero,
Watching and waiting the while he expires.

Oh she is cruel, her spirit would harden
An angel in tears on a comforting quest,
But oh she is fair as the dawn in a garden—
And Beauty's the virtue surpassing the rest.
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