Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtile virtue read more

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

And would it not be proud romance
Falling in some obscure advance,
To rise, a poppy field read more

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

We are slumberous poppies,
Lords of Lethe downs,
Some awake and some asleep,
Sleeping read more

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 may know.
- Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt),

The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams.

The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and read more

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.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

Gentle sleep!
Scatter thy drowsiest poppies from above;
And in new dreams not soon to vanish, bless
read more

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.

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

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

Every castle of the air
Sleeps in the fine black grains, and there
Are seeds for every read more

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.