The Aeneid - pg. 275

But while he clamored,

Volcens' blade, thrust hard, passed through the ribs

And breached the snow-white chest. Euryalus

In death went reeling down,

And blood streamed on his handsome length, his neck

Collapsing let his head fall on his shoulder --

As a bright flower cut by a passing plow

Will droop and wither slowly, or a poppy

Bow its head upon its tired stalk

When overborne by a passing rain.