RED POPPY 
 
 
 
I have no heart to sing. 
What offering may I bring, 
Alice, to thee ? 
My great love’s lifted wing 
Weakens, unwearying, 
And droops with me, 
Seeing the sun-kindled hair 
Close in the face more fair, 
The sweet soul shining there 
For God to see. 
 
 
35