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Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium.

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium.
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!
Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!
Come, Helen, come give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven be in these lips.
And all is dross that is not Helena.
-- Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)

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