We were all of us scarlet, and counted as weeds,
When we grew in the fields with the corn;
Now, fall from your pepper-pots, wee little seeds,
And lovelier things shall be born!
You shall sleep in the soil, and awaken next year;
Your buds shall burst open; behold!
Soft-tinted and silken, shall petals appear,
And then into Poppies unfold—
Like daintiest ladies, who dance and are gay,
All frilly and pretty to see!
So I shake out the ripe little seeds, and I say:
“Go, sleep, and awaken like me!”