In Flanders Fields
by 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
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.
McRae’s handwritten poem: image courtesy of the Osler Library of the History of Medicine, McGill University, Canada
John McRae was a Canadian doctor serving on the Western Front. He was inspired to compose his poem in May 1915 following the death of a close friend and colleague. By the end of the year it was being celebrated as one of the great poems of the age. McRae continued to serve until he tragically died of pneumonia in January 1918, while commanding No. 3 Canadian General Hospital at Boulogne.
