"Bright beauty of the field,
Dancing in the lightest breeze,
The song of your leaves so soothing,
The hue of your flower so gay!
Born in battles grim repost,
Fed on bone, water’d with blood,
Crimson arrow betwixt verdant leaves,
Grim remembrance of valiance lost!
Did ever the wounded soldier,
Not bless his fallen comrade thy healing leaves?
Does the hearthless grieving widow,
Not taste her husband’s kiss in thy fatal nectar?
Sorrowborn to the soul yet joyous to the eye,
The martyr’s poppy dances in the breeze,
Promise of sweet oblivion in the sap,
Gentle healing balm in the leaf,
Was ever else born such contradiction as thee?
Was ever more bitter harvest reaped?"