Two warriors have engaged in combat: swords
Hash and clash together; blood is spilled.
Such passages of arms are the result
of love in its early phase, a loud pursuit.
The blades are broken—like our youth, my dear:
no more than teeth and nails, discreetly filed,
must try where sword and tricky dagger failed.
—O rage of ripened hearts at grips with love!
Our heroes, wickedly entwined, have rolled
into the lynx-infested gulley where
their flesh will fertilize the greedy thorns;
the place is Hell, and crowded with our friends,
so leap right in, my heartless Amazon,
to keep our hatred’s fire perpetual.