In Flanders Field where poppies blow
between the crosses, row on row
that mark the place. And in the sky
the larks still bravely singing fly
scarce heard amidst the guns below
We are the dead, scarce days ago
we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
But now we lay in Flanders field.
Take up the quarrel with the foe
to you with flailing hands we throw
the torch, be it yours to carry high
If ye break faith we those who died
we shall not sleep, though poppies blow
in Flanders field.
