These are the flowers of sleep <br />That nod in the heavy noon, <br />Ere the brown shades eastward creep <br />To a drowsy and dreamful tune— <br />These are the flowers of sleep. <br /> <br />Love’s lilies are passion-pale, <br />But these on the sun-kissed flood <br />Of the corn, that rolls breast deep, <br />Burn redder than drops of blood <br />On a dead king’s golden mail. <br /> <br />Heart’s dearest, I would that we <br />These blooms of forgetfulness <br />Might bind on our brows, and steep <br />Our love in Lethe ere less <br />Grow its flame with thee or me. <br /> <br />When Time with his evil eye <br />The beautiful Love has slain, <br />There is nought to gain or keep <br />Thereafter, and all is vain. <br />Should we wait to see Love die? <br /> <br />Sweetheart, of the joys men reap <br />We have reaped; ’tis time to rest. <br />Why should we wake but to weep? <br />Sleep and forgetting is best— <br />These are the flowers of sleep.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poppies-5/
