John McCrae > Quotes

“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 falling 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

“Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“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

“Bid them be patient, and some day, anon,
They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep;
Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn,
And in content may turn them to their sleep.”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“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”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields

“Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,
Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"
How should they know the vigils that I keep,
The tears I shed?”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“That day of battle in the dusty heat
We lay and heard the bullets swish and sing
Like scythes amid the over-ripened wheat,
And we the harvest of their garnering.”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“In Flanders Fields           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. The”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“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,
Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"
How should they know the vigils that I keep,
The tears I shed?
Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,
Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,
More blest than I.
'Twas just last year -- - I heard two lovers pass
So near, I caught the tender words he said:
To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass
; Above his head.
That night full envious of his life was I,
That youth and love should stand at his behest;
To-night, I envy him, that he should lie
At utter rest.”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“Be comforted! No grief of night can weigh
Against the joys that throng thy coming day.”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“Win the ship a name of glory, win the men a death of grace”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“I LEFT, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
I prayed that God might have her in His care
And sight.
Earth's love was false; her voice, a siren's song;
(Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name)
The path she showed was but the path of wrong
And shame.
"Cast her not out!" I cry. God's kind words come -- -
"Her future is with Me, as was her past;
It shall be My good will to bring her home
At last.”
― John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

“The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep.”
― John McCrae