Poppies. 
By Hunt, James Henry Leigh. 

POPPIES

We are slumberous poppies,
Lords of Lethe downs;
Some awake, and some asleep,
Sleeping in our crowns.
What perchance our dreams may know
Let our serious beauty show.

Central depth of purple,
Leaves more bright than rose;
Who shall tell what brightest thought
Out of darkness grows?
Who, through what funereal pain
Souls to love and peace attain?

Visions aye are on us,
Unto eyes of power,
Pluto's always setting sun
And Proserpine's bower:
There, like bees, the pale souls come
For our drink with drowsy hum.

Taste, ye mortals, also,
Milky-hearted we;
Taste, but with a rev'rent care, - 
Active patient be.
Too much gladness brings to gloom
Those who on the gods presume.

James Henry Leigh Hunt.