Monday, May 26, 2008

Ypres 1918

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.

- Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army


Gina said...

Beautiful. Thank you.
And I'm hoping you had a relaxing long weekend, T!

Gina said...

Hi T~
My email is I would *love* to visit your "hovel". Oh, would I. However, I'm afraid I would never leave. My darling friend and the spacious Colorado frontier (I'm craving wide-openess of which the OC has an oppressive shortage-- UUUGGG)together in one place -- what could be finer??

The Scarlet Pervygirl said...

YOU love us when we’re heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
That chivalry redeems the war’s disgrace.
You make us shells. You listen with delight, 5
By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.
You crown our distant ardours while we fight,
And mourn our laurelled memories when we’re killed.
You can’t believe that British troops ‘retire’
When hell’s last horror breaks them, and they run, 10
Trampling the terrible corpses—blind with blood.
O German mother dreaming by the fire,
While you are knitting socks to send your son
His face is trodden deeper in the mud.

--Siegfried Sassoon, CBE MC (1886-1967), British Army