Of sin and sorrow, though impelled by—duty.
Stranger.Why do you pluck those gorgeous poppy-flowers,
And cast them in the walk?
Sailor.They now are harmless;
Suffered to ripen, they are poisonous.
Let them die blooming, while they are innoxious.
Would he had perished as these simple flowers,
Ere his bloom faded, yielding deadly seed.
Stranger.I’ve sought you, sir, to solace your old age.
Sailor.God bless my child! We’re in the circle still.