Sonnet: To the Poppy

Anna Seward 1742 – 1809

While summer roses all their glory yield

To crown the votary of love and joy,

Misfortune’s victim hails, with many a sigh,

Thee, scarlet Poppy of the pathless field,

Gaudy, yet wild and lone; no leaf to shield

Thy flaccid vest that, as the gale blows high,

Flaps, and alternate folds around thy head.

So stands in the long grass a love-crazed maid,

Smiling aghast; while stream to every wind

Her garish ribbons, smeared with dust and rain;

But brain-sick visions cheat her tortured mind,

And bring false peace. Thus, lulling grief and pain,

Kind dreams oblivious from thy juice proceed,

Thou flimsy, showy, melancholy weed.