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Full of grace exceedingly,
As she hath charm and loveliness;
Speak, O sailor of the sea,
And from out thy bark, confess
That never ship nor sail can be
Beautiful as she.
Speak, thou knightly man-at-arms,
Boasting of thy panoply,—
Are horse or sword or war-alarms
Beautiful as she?
Speak, thou shepherd of the hills,
Where thine idle flocks are free,—
Are there peaks or vales or rills
Beautiful as she?

Gil Vicente
Translation by Thomas Walsh

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