Poppies

"But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed."

"When poor Mama long restless lies She drinks the poppy's juice; That liquor soon can close her eyes, And slumber soft produce: O then my sweet, my happy boy Will thank the Poppy-flower, Which brings the sleep to dear Mama, At midnight's darksome hour."

"Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band, If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand."

"Not poppy nor mandragora Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou owedst yesterday."

"Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro Languescit moriens; lassove papavera collo Demisere caput, pluvia cum forte gravantur."

"I sing the Poppy! The frail snowy weed! The flower of Mercy! that within its heart Doth keep "a drop serene" for human need, A drowsy balm for every bitter smart. For happy hours the Rose will idly blow , The Poppy hath a charm for pain and woe."

"Central depth of purple, Leaves more bright than rose, Who shall tell what brightest thought Out of darkness grows? Who, through what funereal pain, Souls to love and peace attain?"

"We are slumberous poppies, Lords of Lethe downs, Some awake and some asleep, Sleeping in our crowns. What perchance our dreams may know, Let our serious beauty show."

"The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams."

"Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze most softly lulling to my soul."

"The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks."

"Every castle of the air Sleeps in the fine black grains, and there Are seeds for every romance, or light Whiff of a dream for a summer night."

"Visions for those too tired to sleep, These seeds cast a film over eyes which weep."

"In Flanders' fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard among the guns below."

"Find me next a Poppy posy, Type of his harangues so dozy."

"And would it not be proud romance Falling in some obscure advance, To rise, a poppy field of France?"

"Let but my scarlet head appear And I am held in scorn; Yet juice of subtile virtue lies Within my cup of curious dyes."

"Gentle sleep! Scatter thy drowsiest poppies from above; And in new dreams not soon to vanish, bless My senses with the sight of her I love."

"And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy's bonfire spread."

"Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And clipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine."

"Bring poppies for a weary mind That saddens in a senseless din."