By Nora May French

Where saffron poppy-petals curl apart
Deep glowing lies the warmth of summer's heart.

Touch but a poppy petal; satin sleek,
And know the living silk of summer's cheek.

This curving blossom cup beneath her gaze
Brims with the filtered gold of perfect days;

Then over the hills she smiles--and one by one,
Lo! poppies quiver yellow to the sun.

"Poppies" is from Nora's handwritten copy in the Bancroft papers of her sister, Helen French. It may be an early poem, as it is signed "Nora French" rather than "Nora May French," which she used later.
-- Pamela Herr