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Flowers-Poppy: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

A Poppy grows upon the shore Bursts her twin cup in summer late: Her leaves are glaucous green and hoar, Her petals yellow, delicate.— ROBERT BRIDGES — The Sea Poppy.

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r its bloom is shed.— BURNS — Tam o' Shanter.

Till gold flashed out from the wheat-ear brown, And flame from the poppy's leaf.— ELIZA COOK — Journal. Stanzas. Vol. IV. St. 3.

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. On one side is a field of drooping oats, Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats.— KEATS — Epistle to My Brother George.

The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks.— KEATS — Endymion. Bk. I. L. 681.

Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.— KEATS — Endymion. Bk. I. L. 565.

Find me next a Poppy posy, Type of his harangues so dozy.— MOORE — Wreaths for the Ministers.

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. S.— HORACE SMITH — Poppies and Sleep.

No odors sweet proclaim the spot Where its soft leaves unfold; Nor mingled hues of beauty-bright Charm and allure the captive sight With forms and tints untold.— CYNTHIA TAGGART — Ode to the Poppy. St. 4.

One simple hue the plant portrays Of glowing radiance rare, Fresh as the roseate morn displays, And seeming sweet and fair. U.— CYNTHIA TAGGART — Ode to the Poppy. St. 5.

And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy's bonfire spread.— BAYARD TAYLOR — Poems of the Orient. The Poet in the East. St. 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 dipped 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.— WM. WINTER — The White Flag.

Primrose. Primula. Ring-ting! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the elm-tree for our king!— WM. ALLINGHAM — Wishing. A Child's Song. St. 1.

'Tis the first primrose! see how meek, Yet beautiful it looks; As just a lesson it may speak As that which is in books.— REV. WM. LISLE BOWLES — Primrose.

The primrose banks how fair!— BURNS — My Chloris, Mark How Green

the Groves. Welcome, pale primrose! starting up between Dead matted leaves of ash and oak that strew The every lawn, the wood, and spinney through. 'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green; How much thy presence beautifies the ground! How sweet thy modest unaffected pride Glows on the sunny bank and wood's warm side— JOHN CLARE — The Primrose. A Sonnet.

I see the bright primroses burst where I stand, And I laugh like a child as they drip in my hand.— ELIZA COOK — Journal. Summer Is Nigh. Vol. VIII. St. 4.

Music, sweet music, sounds over the earth; One glad choral song greets the primrose's birth.— ELIZA COOK — Journal. Spring. Vol. IV. St. 2.