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No change can ever shake
A woman's virtuous fame:
The moon is forth anew,
Though envious clouds endeavour
To screen her from our view—
More beautiful than ever:
So, through detraction's haze,
True Woman shines alwaies.
The many-tinted Rose,
Of gardens is the queen,
The perfumed Violet knows
No peer where she is seen—
The flower of woman-kind
Is aye a gentle mind.
