they held their heads in high disdain--those four red poppies who had
gleefully chuckled and chatted together on the yesterday; but the fifth
and silent poppy drooped upon her breast. I turned to go; she did not stay
me; I stole to the door. "Take us away with you," cried those four
garrulous poppies; "we are willing to die, and at once if need be, but not
here in her hateful presence. Take us away." But the poppy on her breast
only drooped and drooped the more and said not a word.

I opened the door. The shadows had fled--the hall was a blaze of light.
The music had ceased--only the noise of street below broke the silence.
"If thus you let me go, I will not return again," I said.

The woman did not speak, neither did she stir. But the poppy on her breast
with drooping head uplifted softly cried, "Go, quickly go, and--forget!"

* * * * *

I went down the broad stairway between a row of bright lights--a dazzling
mockery--I went out into the night. I passed by a certain garden where red
poppies grew. I leaned over the low wall. I buried my hot face among them.
I crushed them in my hands and stained my temples with their quivering
blooms. But all to no purpose; they did not, could not bring
forgetfulness. I am thinking always of that woman, of those four red
poppies, and of that one red poppy which drooped on her breast that night
and said to me, "Go, quickly go, and--forget."




THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK