HIGH up in hollow valleys where dim lakes In Karahissar find no watershed, By many a snow-gorged roaring river-bed, In long white fluttering waves the poppy shakes; But spring-tide comes at last, and April wakes, And tears the petals from the golden head, Till, of its pink wings disinherited, The opium-laden capsule bends and bakes. Then, after sunset, the sleek farmers creep To slash the poppy-globes, and leave them soon Oozing green tears beneath the gibbous moon; Tears, that in scallop-shells, when dawn shall peep, Patient, they'll gather; then, dismiss the boon Round the wide world in bales of solid sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MY MOTHER LEFT ME by KAREN SWENSON THE HASTY PUDDING by JOEL BARLOW ALL THAT'S PAST by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE UPON BEN JONSON [JOHNSON] by ROBERT HERRICK LAST SONNET (REVISED VERSION) by JOHN KEATS VITAI LAMPADA by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT |