HECTOR IN THE GARDEN 207 



In the garden lay supinely 



A huge giant wrought of spade ; 



Arms and legs were stretched at length 



In a passive giant strength, 

 The fine meadow-turf, cut finely, 



Round them laid and interlaid. 



Call him Hector, son of Priam ! 



Such his title and degree. 



With my rake I smoothed his brow, 



Both his cheeks I weeded through , 

 But a rhymer such as I am, 



Scarce can sing his dignity. 



Eyes of gentianellas azure, 



Staring, winking at the skies ; 



Nose of gillyflowers and box ; 



Scented grasses put for locks, 

 Which a little breeze at pleasure 



Set a-waving round his eyes : 



Brazen helm of daffodillies, 



With a glitter toward the light ; 

 Purple violets for the mouth, 

 Breathing perfumes west and south ; 



And a sword of flashing lilies, 

 Holden ready for the fight : 



And a breastplate made of daisies, 



Closely fitting, leaf on leaf; 



Periwinkles interlaced 



Drawn for belt about the waist ; 

 While the brown bees, humming praises, 



Shot their arrows round the chief, 



