OH, red is the English rose, And the lilies of France are pale, And the poppies grow in the golden wheat, For the men whose eyes are heavy with sleep, Where the ground is red as the English rose, And the lips as the lilies of France are pale, And the ebbing pulses beat fainter and fainter and fail. Oh, red is the English rose, And the lilies of France are pale. And the poppies lie in the level corn For the men who sleep and never return. But wherever they lie an English rose So red, and a lily of France so pale, Will grow for a love that never and never can fail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF KAREN, THE DANCING CHILD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN WITH THE WOODEN LEG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD BLACK EAGLE RETURNS TO ST. JOE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: JANE FISHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS JOHN WILKES BOOTH AT THE FARM (JANUARY 12, 1848) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |