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...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 9. VILLA SEBELLONI, BELLAGGIO by SARA TEASDALE EMMELINE GRANGERFORD'S 'ODE TO STEPHEN DOLWING BOTS, DEC'D' by SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS LINCOLN by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL THE LAST GOODBYE by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON |