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 dipped its cup in the purpurate shine
When the eastern conduits ran with wine.
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Bring poppies for a weary mind
That saddens in a senseless din.
Bring poppies for a weary mind
That saddens in a senseless din.
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),
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.
Visions for those too tired to sleep,
These seeds cast a film over eyes which weep.
Visions for those too tired to sleep,
These seeds cast a film over eyes which weep.
The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.
The poppies hung
Dew-dabbed on their stalks.
Find me next a Poppy posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy.
Find me next a Poppy posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy.
Central depth of purple,
Leaves more bright than rose,
Who shall tell what brightest thought
read more
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?
- Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt),
Through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.
Through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.
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.
