(lieutenant colonel John McCrae, 1872-1918)
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.
band annie's Weblog 
February 18, 2014 at 11:43 pm
Thank you for sharing this, one of my favorite poems. As a child in England during the second world war I learned a lot of early 20th century poetry, and I had thought this was by an English poet. It was a surprise to learn, when my granddaughter became a student at John McRae bilingual (public) school in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, that McRae was a Canadian poet born in Guelph.
Another favorite of mine is Rupert Brooke’s “The Soldier” about the same terrible war — The War to End All Wars…” sadly it didn’t turn out to be true.
IF I should die, think only this of me;
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
February 19, 2014 at 12:52 am
Thank you for sharing The Soldier