The Red Poppy (Papaver rhoeas)

The Red Poppy (Papaver rhoeas)
I.

Look, how the Poppies flaunt their red-red flags
O’er all yon cornfield,—beauty out of place!
So when the angel Peace would bless our race,
The demon War, in horrid triumph, drags
His gore-stain’d chariot; drums and trumpets sound 5
To nerve the soldier’s arm to burn and slay,
And showy banners are unfurl’d alway,—
All fitter far for peace. How ‘t will redound
To human happiness when men shall learn
That wars are all unneeded! We can take 10
The Poppy’s juice, and from it we can make
An anodyne to pain: but when we burn,
Blow up, pull down, or (worst of all) take life,
Our acts perforce with misery are rife.


II
And yet I love you, Poppy’s warlike flag! 15
Its dusky green, hairy, indented leaves,
The brilliant scarlet of the flower relieves:
And well it shows waving on yonder crag
Like baron’s banner on his donjon keep.
What though it be but a poor fragile flower? 20
To cheer my heart it still has got the power,
As when in childhood I did careless creep
To pluck it growing midst my grandsire’s corn.
Our ancestors from Poppies did prepare
That gentle soothing cordial, used with care, 25
Was softer that strong opiates. We are prone
Too much our useful simples to despise,
And in our ignorance deem ourselves most wise.

George Markham Tweddell
[Sonnets on Trees and Flowers; Stanza I on p. 20, stanza II on p. 4]