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Some say an army of horsemen, some infantry, some ships is the finest thing on the dark earth. I say it is whatever you love. Helen, who surpassed all others in beauty, left a fine husband and sailed to Troy. The poem ends with my longing for Anactoria, whose lovely step and bright face I would rather see than Lydian chariots. The private feeling against the public spectacle — I have always preferred the personal case.