Blue shadows wreathed the galley's prow that bore
Twice seven Attic youth, a glorious train
For Theseus, captain of the brunt of war,
Over the Cretan main.

The North wind filled the shining sails above,
Thanks to the bucklered Goddess of the Fight;
But Minos' heart was sore with pains of Love,
Love brow-bound with delight.

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