In Flanders Fields | Page 3

DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae [Canadian Poet, 1872-1918]

[Note on text: Italicized stanzas are indented 5 spaces.
Italicized
words or phrases are capitalized.
Some slight errors have been
corrected.]
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
And Other Poems
By Lieut.-Col. John McCrae, M.D.
With An Essay in Character
By Sir Andrew Macphail
[This text is taken from the New York edition of 1919.]
{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
--
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