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In Flanders Fields And Other Poems
by John McCrae
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae
With an Essay in Character by Sir Andrew Macphail
John McCrae； physician； soldier； and poet； died in France
a Lieutenant…Colonel with the Canadian forces。
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。
In Flanders Fields
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
｛From a｝ Facsimile of an autograph copy of the poem 〃In Flanders Fields〃
This was probably written from memory as 〃grow〃 is used in place of 〃blow〃
in the first line。
Contents
In Flanders Fields
1915
The Anxious Dead
1917
The Warrior
1907
Isandlwana
1910
The Unconquered Dead
1906
The Captain
1913
The Song of the Derelict
1898
Quebec
1908
Then and Now
1896
Unsolved
1895
The Hope of My Heart
1894
Penance
1896
Slumber Songs
1897
The Oldest Drama
1907
Recompense
1896
Mine Host
1897
Equality
1898
Anarchy
1897
Disarmament
1899
The Dead Master
1913
The Harvest of the Sea
1898
The Dying of Pere Pierre
1904
Eventide
1895
Upon Watts' Picture 〃Sic Transit〃
1904
A Song of Comfort
1894
The Pilgrims
1905
The Shadow of the Cross
1894
The Night Cometh
1913
In Due Season
1897
John McCrae
An Essay in Character by Sir Andrew Macphail
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders Fields
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。
The Anxious Dead
O guns； fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions pressing on：
（These fought their fight in time of bitter fear；
And died not knowing how the day had gone。）
O flashing muzzles； pause； and let them see
The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar；
Then let your mighty chorus witness be
To them； and Caesar； that we still make war。
Tell them； O guns； that we have heard their call；
That we have sworn； and will not turn aside；
That we will onward till we win or fall；
That we will keep the faith for which they died。
Bid them be patient； and some day； anon；
They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep；
Shall greet； in wonderment； the quiet dawn；
And in content may turn them to their sleep。
The Warrior
He wrought in poverty； the dull grey days；
But with the night his little lamp…lit room
Was bright with battle flame； or through a haze
Of smoke that stung his eyes he heard the boom
Of Bluecher's guns； he shared Almeida's scars；
And from the close…packed deck； about to die；
Looked up and saw the 〃Birkenhead〃's tall spars
Weave wavering lines across the Southern sky：
Or in the stifling 'tween decks； row on row；
At Aboukir； saw how the dead men lay；
Charged with the fiercest in Busaco's strife；
Brave dreams are his the flick'ring lamp burns low
Yet couraged for the battles of the day
He goes to stand full face to face with life。
Isandlwana
Scarlet coats； and crash o' the band；
The grey of a pauper's gown；
A soldier's grave in Zululand；
And a woman in Brecon Town。
My little lad for a soldier boy；
（Mothers o' Brecon Town！）
My eyes for tears and his for joy
When he went from Brecon Town；
His for the flags and the gallant sights
His for the medals and his for the fights；
And mine for the dreary； rainy nights
At home in Brecon Town。
They say he's laid beneath a tree；
（Come back to Brecon Town！）
Shouldn't I know？ I was there to see：
（It's far to Brecon Town！）
It's me that keeps it trim and drest
With a briar there and a rose by his breast
The English flowers he likes the best
That I bring from Brecon Town。
And I sit beside him him and me；
（We're back to Brecon Town。）
To talk of the things that used to be
（Grey ghosts of Brecon Town）；
I know the look o' the land and sky；
And the bird that builds in the tree near by；
And times I hear the jackals cry；
And me in Brecon Town。
Golden grey on miles of sand
The dawn comes creeping down；
It's day in far off Zululand
And night in Brecon Town。
The Unconquered Dead
〃。 。 。 defeated； with great loss。〃
Not we the conquered！ Not to us the blame
Of them that flee； of them that basely yield；
Nor ours the shout of victory； the fame
Of them that vanquish in a stricken field。
That day of battle in the dusty heat
We lay and heard the bullets swish and sing
Like scythes amid the over…ripened wheat；
And we the harvest of their garnering。
Some yielded； No； not we！ Not we； we swear
By these our wounds； this trench upon the hill
Where all the shell…strewn earth is seamed and bare；
Was ours to keep； and lo！ we have it still。
We might have yielded； even we； but death
Came for our helper； like a sudden flood
The crashing darkness fell； our painful breath
We drew with gasps amid the choking blood。
The roar fell faint and farther off； and soon
Sank to a foolish humming in our ears；
Like crickets in the long； hot afternoon
Among the wheat fields of the olden years。
Before our eyes a boundless wall of red
Shot through by sudden streaks of jagged pain！
Then a slow…gathering darkness overhead
And rest came on us like a quiet rain。
Not we the conquered！ Not to us the shame；
Who hold our earthen ramparts； nor shall cease
To hold them ever； victors we； who came
In that fierce moment to our honoured peace。
The Captain
1797
Here all the day she swings from tide to tide；
Here all night long she tugs a rusted chain；
A masterless hulk that was a ship of pride；
Yet unashamed： her memories remain。
It was Nelson in the ‘Captain'； Cape St。 Vincent far alee；
With the ‘Vanguard' leading s'uth'ard in the haze
Little Jervis and the Spaniards and the fight that was to be；
Twenty…seven Spanish battleships； great bullies of the sea；
And the ‘Captain' there to find he