John McCrae

John McCrae

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Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (November 30, 1872 – January 28, 1918) was 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".
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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
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At the drowsy dusk when the shadows
From the golden west, where the sunbeams sleep,
An angel mused:  "Is there good or
In the mad world's heart, since on Calvary's hill'Round the cross a mid-day twilight
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Amid my books I lived the hurrying years,
Disdaining kinship with my fellow man;
Alike to me were human smiles and tears,
I cared not whither Earth's great life-stream ran,
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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,
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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...
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Beneath her window in the fragrant night I half forget how truant years have
Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow
Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves Sweep lazily across the unlit...
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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...
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"What I spent I had; what I saved,
I lost; what I gave,
I have
"But yesterday the tourney, all the eager joy of life,      The waving of the banners, and the rattle of the spears,
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He wrought in poverty, the dull grey days,
But with the night his little lamp-lit
Was bright with battle flame, or through a haze Of smoke that stung his eyes he heard the
Of Bluecher's guns; he shared Almeida's scars,
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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,
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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...
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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...
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In Flanders’ Fields the poppies
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the
The larks, still bravely singing,
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Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes (I scorn your beguiling,
O sea
)Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes
(A treacherous lover, the sea
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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
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Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime:
To-day around him surges from the silences of TimeA flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad,
Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God
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