Ode To The Poppy

Written by a deceased friend.

OT for the promise of the labour'd field,

Not for the good the yellow harvests yield,

I bend at Ceres' shrine;

For dull, to human eyes,

The golden glories of the year,

Alas!--a melancholy worship's mine,

I hail the goddess for her scarlet flower;

Thou brilliant weed,

That dost so far

The richest gifts gay Flora can bestow:

Heedless I pass'd thee, in life's morning hour,(Thou comforter of woe)Till sorrow taught me to confess thy power.

In early days, when Fancy cheats,

A varied wreath I wove,

Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets,

To deck ungrateful Love:

The rose, or thorn, my labours crown'd;

As Venus smiled, or Venus frown'd;

But Love and Joy, and all their train, are flown;

E'en languid Hope no more is mine,

And I will sing of thee alone,

Unless, perchance, the attributes of Grief,

The cypress bud, and willow leaf,

Their pale funereal foliage blend with thine.

Hail, lovely blossom!--thou canst

The wretched victims of Disease;

Canst close those weary eyes in gentle sleep,

Which never open but to weep;

For, oh! thy potent

Can agonizing Pain disarm;

Expel imperious Memory from her seat,

And bid the throbbing heart forget to beat.

Soul-soothing plant! that can such blessings give,

By thee the mourner bears to live!

By thee the hopeless die!

Oh! ever "friendly to despair,"Might Sorrow's pallid votary dare,

Without a crime, that remedy implore,

Which bids the spirit from its bondage fly,

I'd court thy palliative aid no more;

No more I'd sue that thou shouldst spread,

Thy spell around my aching head,

But would conjure thee to

Thy balsam for a broken heart;

And by thy soft Lethean power,( Inestimable flower)Burst these terrestrial bonds, and other regions try.

Written by a deceased friend.

The friend was Henrietta O'Neill, a poet, friend and long time friend of Smith's.

Neill