Hoyt & Roberts, comps. Hoyts New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations. 1922.
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. Mary A. BarrWhite Poppies.
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 HuntSongs and Chorus of the Flowers. Poppies.
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. Leigh HuntSongs and Chorus of the Flowers. Poppies.
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. Col. John McCraeIn Flanders Fields. (We shall not Sleep.)
Summer set lip to earths 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 lions 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. Francis ThompsonThe Poppy.