Lilies, lilies not for me,

Flowers of the pure and saintly ―

I have seen in holy places

Where the incense rises faintly,

And the priest the chalice raises,

Lilies in the altar vases,

       Not for me.

Leave untouched each garden tree,

Kings and queens of flower-land.

When the summer evening closes,

Lovers may-be hand in hand

There will seek for crimson roses,

There will bind their wreaths and posies

       Merrily.

From the corn-fields where we met

Pluck me poppies white and red;

Bind them round my weary brain,

Strew them on my narrow bed,

Numbing all the ache and pain. ―

I shall sleep nor wake again,

       But forget.

– Digby Mackworth Dolben 

Crimson roses, poppies white and red.