IN FLANDERS FIELDS    
      by John McCrae    
      [Canadian Poet, 1872-1918]    

 
      WITH AND ESSAY IN CHARACTER 
 
 by Sir Andrew Macphail    

 
      [This text is taken from the New York edition of 1919.]    

 

 
        John McCrae, physician, soldier, and poet, died in France a        Lieutenant-Colonel with the Canadian forces.      
        The poem which gives this collection of his lovely verse its name has        been extensively reprinted, and received with unusual enthusiasm.      
        The volume contains, as well, a striking essay in character by his        friend, Sir Andrew Macphail.      

 

 
        {Although the poem itself is included shortly, this next section is        included for completeness, and to show John McCrae's punctuation —        also to show that I'm not the only one who forgets lines. — A. L.}      

 IN FLANDERS FIELDS    
          In Flanders fields the poppies grow          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.                                John McCrae
      {From a} Facsimile of an autograph copy of the poem "In Flanders Fields"    
      This was probably written from memory as "grow" is used in place of "blow"      in the first line.    

 

 
                        
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