a whet-stone for a sword;

sword against flint,

Theseus sought Hippolyta;

she yielded not nor broke,

sword upon stone,

from the clash leapt a spark,

Hippolytus, born of hate.

What did she think

when all her strength

was twisted for his bearing;

did it break,

even within her sheltered heart, a song,

some whispered note,

distant and faint as this:

Love that I bear

within my breast

how is my armour melted

how my heart:

as an oak-tree

that keeps beneath the snow,

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