Sonnet LXXI

To the Poppy

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-craz'd Maid,

Smiling aghast; while stream to every wind

Her gairish ribbons, smear'd with dust and rain;

But brain-sick visions cheat her tortur'd mind,

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

Kind dreams oblivious from thy juice proceed,

Thou flimsy, shewy, melancholy weed.