John McCrae
John McCrae
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MDwas a Canadian poet, physician, author, artist and soldier during World War I, and a surgeon during the Second Battle of Ypres, in Belgium. He is best known for writing the famous war memorial poem "In Flanders Fields". McCrae died of pneumonia near the end of the war...
NationalityCanadian
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth30 November 1872
CountryCanada
poppies shall though
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow: In Flanders fields.
lying sunset dawn
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
blow fields poppies
In Flanders fields the poppies blow,
gun singing poppies
The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below
rain bird village
Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
fall hands quarrels
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from falling hands we throw.
blow gun sky
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 among the guns below.
bow bravely field fly guns heard mark poppies row scarce sky
In Flanders Field the poppies bow 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" ()
blow bravely break days failing faith felt fields guns hands heard hold mark poppies quarrel row saw shall short sunset though yours
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on rowThat mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep, though poppies growIn Flanders fields." ()
blow bravely break days die failing faith felt fields fly grow guns hands heard hold lie loved mark poppies quarrel row saw scarce shall short sky sunset though throw yours
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." ()
blow fields poppies row
In Flanders fields the poppies blow / Between the crosses, row on row." ()