A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/In Flanders Fields
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For other versions of this work, see In Flanders Fields.
IN FLANDERS FIELDS
[Reprinted by permission of the Proprietors of Punch.]
IN Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.