…The archer loosed a fresh shaft from the bowstring straight for Hector, his spirit longing to hit him— but he missed and cut Gorgythion down instead, a well-bred son of Priam, a handsome prince, and the arrow pierced his chest, Gorgythion whom Priam’s bride from Aesyme bore one day, lovely Castianira lithe as a deathless goddess… As a garden poppy, burst into red bloom, bends, drooping its head to one side, weighed down by its full seeds and sudden spring shower, so Gorgythion’s head fell limp over one shoulder, weighed down by his helmet…

Iliad, 8.273-315 translated by Robert Fagles