Epigraph
The poem which gives this collection of his lovely verse its name has been extensively reprinted, and received with unusual enthusiasm.
The volume contains, as well, a striking essay in character by his friend, Sir Andrew Macphail.
{Although the poem itself is included shortly, this next section is included for completeness, and to show John McCrae’s punctuation — also to show that I’m not the only one who forgets lines. — A. L.}
IN FLANDERS FIELDS
Note
| In Flanders fields the poppies grow 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. | |
| John McCrae |