Then comes eclipse upon the crescent shield,
And death on them that bear it, and they fall
One here, one there, about the stricken field,
As in that art, of Love memorial,
Which moulders on the holy Carian wall.
Ay, still we see, still love, still pity there
The warrior-maids, so brave, so god-like tall,
In Time's despite imperishably fair.
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