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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=407901" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poppies on the Wheat</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=407901" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Along Ancona's hills the shimmering heat, <br>A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow <br>Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow <br>Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat <br>Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet <br>Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro <br>To mark the shore. <br>The farmer does not know <br>That they are there. He walks with heavy feet, <br>Counting the bread and wine by autumn's gain, <br>But I,--I smile to think that days remain <br>Perhaps to me in which, through bread be sweet <br>No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain, <br>I shall be glad remembering how the fleet, <br>Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Helen+Hunt+Jackson">Helen Hunt Jackson</a></strong></div>

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