Definitions
from The Century Dictionary.
- Producing or covered or grown over with poppies; mingled with poppies: as, poppied fields; “poppied corn,”
- Resulting from or produced by the use of poppy-juice or opium; listless.
from the GNU version of the Collaborative International Dictionary of English.
- adjective Mingled or interspersed with poppies.
- adjective rare Affected with poppy juice; hence, figuratively, drugged; drowsy; listless; inactive.
from Wiktionary, Creative Commons Attribution/Share-Alike License.
- adjective Mingled or interspersed with
poppies . - adjective Affected by, or as if by,
opium ;drowsy ;listless ;inactive .
Etymologies
from Wiktionary, Creative Commons Attribution/Share-Alike License
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Examples
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Foster feeling, your poppied gaze is all the lunar tide it takes to float the deadweight of our days.
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Blossoms and grass from blood in battle spilt, And poppied corn, I bring.
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For within the ring, close to the clustering globes, was a miniature replica of the giant track in the poppied valley!
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Quick on the screen of my mind flashed two pictures, side by side — the little four-rayed print in the great dust of the crumbling ruin and its colossal twin on the breast of the poppied valley.
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The fields, as we swept rapidly past them, were as bathed in peace as when we had left them; there was even a more voluptuous content abroad: for the twilight was wrapping about the landscape its poppied dusk of gloom and shadow.
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Here were no melting-yellow mustard-fields, nor flame-lit poppied meadows, nor blue-bells lifting their baby-blue eyes out of the grain.
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Tawny-haired, erect, and astonishing in the perfection of his childish beauty, Peter Carolan advanced her a bronzed, firm little hand, and gave her with it a smile that seemed all brilliant color -- white teeth, ocean-blue eyes, and poppied cheeks.
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We who took the poppied potion of our life, and quaffing deep5
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At such times, it is to the novelists, to the inventors of stories, that we most willingly turn for the poppied draught that we crave.
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But sometimes when I do not try to write, and only lean back and close my eyes, I can catch again a little of their breath and sweetness; I can see the purpling vineyards and the poppied fields; I can drift once more with Elizabeth and our girls through the wonderland of France.
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