In Flanders Field
In Flanders Field 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's glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Field.
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 Field.
I first read this poem in high school. I had to memorize it, and it is one of the things that has stayed with me, both because of its haunting beauty and fervent plea. This poem was written by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD for the Canadian Army in May of 1915. This poem is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. One of Lieut. McCrae's friends and a former student, Lieut. Helmer, was killed by a shell burst on May 2, 1915. He was buried in the little cemetery outside Lieut. McCrae's dressing station, and since the chaplain was absent, McCrae performed the funeral service. This poem came out of the anguish and pain of losing his friend.
