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. |
