Poems (Hardy)/A November poppy
A NOVEMBER POPPY
IN a low brown meadow on a dayDown by the autumn sea,I saw a flash of sudden lightIn a sweep of lonely gray;As if a star in a clouded nightOne moment had looked on meAnd then withdrawn; as if the springHad sent an oriole back to singA silent song in color, whereOther silence was too hard to bear.
I found it and left it in its place,The sun-born flower in cloth of goldThat April owns, but cannot holdFrom spending its glory and its graceOn months that always love it less,But take its splendid alms in their distress.
Back I went through the gray and the brown,Through the weed-woven trail to the distant town;The flower went with me, fairly wroughtInto the finest fiber of my thought.