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HECTOR IN THE GARDEN..
NINE years old! The first of
In besieging lium.
Nine green years had scarcely brought me
To my childhood's haunted spring ;
In betwixt the country trees,
Which he teacheth everything.
If the rain fell, there was sorrow,
Little head leant on the pane,
The long trailing drops upon it,
Said for charm against the rain.
Such a charm was right Canidian
Though you meet it with a jeer!
Then the rain hummed dimly off
Was left only to the ear;
And the sun and I together
Went a-rushing out of doors :
Over hill and dale in view, Glimmering hither, glimmering thither,
In the footsteps of the showers. Underneath the chestnuts dripping, Through the grasses wet and fair, Straight I sought my garden-ground
With the laurel on the mound, And the pear-tree oversweeping A side-shadow of
In the garden lay supinely
A huge giant wrought of spade!
In a passive giant strength, -
Round them laid and interlaid.
Call him Hector, son of Priam !
Such his title and degree.
Both his cheeks I weeded through,
Scarce can sing his dignity.
Eyes of gentianellas azure,
Staring, winking at the skies,
Scented grasses put for locks,
Set a-waving round his eyes :
Brazen helm of daffodillies,
With a glitter toward the light ;
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;
Drawn for belt about the waist;
Shot their arrows round the chief.
And who knows (I sometimes wondered)
If the disembodied soul
Might not take a dreary joy
Rolling up the thunder-roll ?
In this body rude and rife
'Neath the daisies of the breastThey, with tender roots, renewing
His heroic heart to life?
Who could know? I sometimes started
At a motion or a sound !
With an οτοτοτοτοι ?
Make the daisies tremble round ?
It was hard to answer, often :
But the birds sang in the tree,
In the pear-tree green and old,
Through the courage of their glee