Poems (Hoffman)/The Scepter the Poppy Yields
THE SCEPTER THE POPPY YIELDS
The poppy flaunting her sheeny silksThrough the summer day in the sun, Tells me of aught Of good she hath wrought,What evil hath she done?
She is only a flower that the children loveFor the charm of her gorgeous dye; Yet stronger powers Than these wills of oursLatent within her lie.
In the darkened room on the rack of painThe wakeful sufferer weeps; A portion the poppy yields to lull The tortured brain of the sorrowfulAnd the sufferer sweetly sleeps.
The opium fiend now haggard and weak,Once hopeful and strong and brave; The poppy has woven a spell to entice $From earnest endeavor to sloth and viceWhile she lures to his death her slave.
And this is the scepter the poppy wieldsFor evil or for good; Is your influence less To curse or blessOh, beautiful womanhood?
You may weave a spell of kindness and loveO'er a world of strife and woe; You may lure the race To a higher place—Or a lower, where you grow.