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Updated: June 29, 2025


I almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. "Ain't that wonderful, Roger? Wants to get drunk on poppies and kiss the writin' and thinks after that he'll be made into a butterfly. Your pa couldn't have been far from bein' a butterfly when he bought this book.

As we got further southward we came upon the great poppy fields, cultivated for opium, which formed a remarkable feature in the landscape. They were scarlet in color, mingled occasionally with pink. In other parts of the country we had seen the beautiful, though baleful, fields of poppies, dressed in bridal white.

T'aint only Liliums Lord, I know 'em all, as if they were my own children born an' bred shrubs, coniferas, herbaceous borders that bloom in succession. My word! what you can do with just delphiniums an' campanula an' acquilegia an' poppies, everyday things like them, that'll grow in any cottage garden, an' bulbs an' annuals! Roses, miss why, Mr.

Then as when first we had seen the phenomenon in the valley of the blue poppies, the ring vanished, hidden by a fog of coruscations as though the force streaming through the rings became diffused after it had been caught. Crouching, forgetful of our juxtaposition to these two unhuman, anomalous Things, we watched the play of the tentacles upon the upthrust rods.

I "From out the temple's pillared portico, Thence to the gardens where blue poppies blow The gold and emerald peacocks saunter slow, Trailing their solemn ennui as they go, Trailing their melancholy and their woe. Rhyme, then, is not merely a "jingle," it is rather, as Samuel Johnson said of all versification, a "joining music with reason."

From the broken night comes singing, for the white poppies have also brought balm. Step by step, his Sorrow has become his friend, and at the last, when the old feet are weary and the steep road has grown still more steep, the Grey Angel comes once more. Past the mist of tears in which he once was shrouded, the face of the Grey Angel is seen to be wondrously kind.

Yesterday they did not remember, serene and changeless as ivy on the wall. So gradual has been the transition, so slowly has the surface of the grain lifted from the rippling blade to the billowy stalk, so continually have the scarlet poppies bloomed since May came, that, to her, this is ever the same beneficent and dear spot, sacred to her soul, as well as fitting type and sign of her pure Art.

"Lead on," said she, "I cannot resist that appeal!" So she rose from the stone and went with them. As they walked he told her that his only son, a little boy, lay very sick, feverish, and sleepless. She stooped and gathered some poppies. As they entered the cottage, they found all in great distress, for the boy seemed past hope of recovery.

I knew the twirl of the walks, and the pattern of the beds; the rank of hollyhocks that stood up all along the wall, and the poppies breathing out a faint sickly odour in the night. An utter silence held all the garden, and, the night being very clear, there was still enough light to show the colours of the flowers when one looked close at them, though the green of the leaves was turned to grey.

Plants whose roots ramify among the roots of poppies become unwilling opium-eaters, from the exudation of this narcotic principle into the ground, and are stunted, like the children of Gin Lane. The Aquarium furnishes a very interesting example of the mutual dependence of the three natural kingdoms.

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