John McCrae

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

If night should come and find me at my toil,
When all Life's day I had, tho' faintly, wrought,
And shallow furrows, cleft in stony soil Were all my labour:  Shall I count it
If only one poor gleaner, weak of hand,

There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say, "How have ye fared
" They answer him, the most,"This lodging place is other than we so...

Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong — Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word, —"The spoils unto the conquerors belong
Who winneth me must win me by the sword
"Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize That strong m...

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 Br...

The day is past and the toilers cease;
The land grows dim 'mid the shadows grey,
And hearts are glad, for the dark brings peace            At the close of day
Each weary toiler, with lingering pace,

My lover died a century ago,
Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,
Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know            The peace of death
Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,

One spake amid the nations, "Let us cease From darkening with strife the fair World's light,
We who are great in war be great in peace
No longer let us plead the cause by might
"But from a million British graves took birth...

"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may — Sleep, oh, sleep
" Eugene Field
Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below: "Think not with regret on the Springtime's song And the task ye left ...

I saw a King, who spent his life to weave Into a nation all his great heart thought,
Unsatisfied until he should achieve The grand ideal that his manhood sought;
Yet as he saw the end within his reach,
Death took the sceptre from hi...

In Flanders’ Fields the poppies
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the
The larks, still bravely singing,

I saw two sowers in Life's field at morn,
To whom came one in angel guise and said,"Is it for labour that a man is born
Lo:  I am Ease
Come ye and eat my bread