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.

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

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.

Index

In Flanders Fields