Keats and many others have immortalized it in their verse.
Burns thus points a moral with the flower:
"Pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed."
The Papaver family has wrought much ill in its day. It is from P. somniferum, one of its members, that the opium of commerce is collected. It is the milky juice of the capsule, or of any other part of the plant which exudes from incisions in the cortical part. This juice, scraped off, is worked in the sun's heat till it is of a consistency to form cakes.
The Oriental and Iceland Poppy are both perennial. Although like the Irishman, "not born in their own native country," they take kindly to our soil. Ten years ago I carefully sowed some seed of Oriental Poppy. Two of them consented to germinate, and now, from this small beginning, I have in my garden Orientals galore. Last spring these beauties kept my borders all aflame with their splendor. I counted, in a single border, eighty-five buds and blooms, and felt well-repaid for their careful nurture. Nevertheless, Oriental Poppies raised from seed mean much patient care, and many failures, but once thoroughly established they are "real estate," and have a kindly way of sowing themselves. As the Poppy, with its long "tap root," is most impatient of removal, this habit especially commends them to the grower.
The Iceland Poppy, though far less considerable in size, is very hardy, and with its dainty bloom of lemon, orange, red, and white, makes a pretty show in a bed by itself; and the Iceland is one of the few poppies available for one's vases.
Mrs. Thaxter, in the beautiful account of her Isle of Shoals gardening, tells us that by cutting poppies in the dew of the morning, with the right hand, and plumping them straight into water with the left, she had great success with them as cut flowers.
Following her method—unsuccessfully—I am forced to believe that the long and beautiful survival of her cut poppies depended largely on the crisp cool air of her Island home. Here the summer is many degrees hotter, and has far less moisture in its air, and, though morning after morning, tempted by their exquisite shades of color, I gather Shirley Poppies for the house, and like the Persian, fall down and worship them; in their slender vases they scarce outlive the day.
A friend making a pilgrimage to Stratford-on-Avon brought me some seed supposedly from Anne Hathaway's garden.
I sowed Madame Shakespeare's poppies with reverent care, but these English-born seeds patriotically refused to quicken in alien soil. No matter! they may have been but half-wild wind-sown things, and with my Shirleys, Icelands, and glorious Orientals, I can spare them.