The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams.
![](../I/m/Yellow_Poppy.jpg)
Find me next a Poppy posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy.
Type of his harangues so dozy.
![](../I/m/Poppies_in_the_Sunset_on_Lake_Geneva.jpg)
The poppies hung
Dew-dabbled on their stalks.
Dew-dabbled on their stalks.
Poppies are a group of a flowering plants, many of which are grown in gardens for their colorful flowers.
Quotes
- But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed.- YO MOMMA IS YOUR DADDY, Tam o' Shanter (1790).
- When poor Mama long restless lies
She drinks the poppy's juice;
That liquor soon can close her eyes,
And slumber soft produce:
O then my sweet, my happy boy
Will thank the Poppy-flower,
Which brings the sleep to dear Mama,
At midnight's darksome hour.- Sara Coleridge, Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children (1853)
- Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band,
If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand.- W. S. Gilbert, Patience (1881), Act I.
- Not poppy nor mandragora
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday.- William Shakespeare, Othello (1604), Act III, scene iii; Iago, of Othello.
- Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus aratro
Languescit moriens; lassove papavera collo
Demisere caput, pluvia cum forte gravantur.- His snowy neck reclines upon his breast,
Like a fair flow'r by the keen share oppress'd:
Like a white poppy sinking on the plain,
Whose heavy head is overcharg'd with rain. - Virgil, The Aeneid, IX, 435 (trans. John Dryden).
- His snowy neck reclines upon his breast,
Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922)
- Quotes reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 613-614.
- 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. Barr, White 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 Hunt, Songs 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 Hunt, Songs and Chorus of the Flowers, Poppies.
- The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams.
- Scharmel Iris, Early Nightfall.
- Through the dancing poppies stole
A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.- John Keats, Endymion (1818), Book I, line 565.
- The poppies hung
Dew-dabbled on their stalks.- John Keats, Endymion (1818), Book I, line 681.
- 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.- Amy Lowell, Sword Blades and Poppy Seed.
- Visions for those too tired to sleep,
These seeds cast a film over eyes which weep.- Amy Lowell, Sword Blades and Poppy Seed.
- 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 McCrae, In Flander's Fields (We shall not Sleep).
- Find me next a Poppy posy,
Type of his harangues so dozy.- Thomas Moore, Wreaths for the Ministers.
- And would it not be proud romance
Falling in some obscure advance,
To rise, a poppy field of France?- William A. Percy, Poppy Fields.
- Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtile virtue lies
Within my cup of curious dyes.- Christina G. Rossetti, "Consider the Lilies of the Field".
- 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.- Horace Smith, Poppies and Sleep.
- And far and wide, in a scarlet tide,
The poppy's bonfire spread.- Bayard Taylor, Poems of the Orient, The Poet in the East, Stanza 4.
- 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 clipped its cup in the purpurate shine
When the eastern conduits ran with wine.- Francis Thompson, The Poppy.
- Bring poppies for a weary mind
That saddens in a senseless din.- William Winter, The White Flag.
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