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.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Keep reading with a free trial
Get your first month free when you subscribe. After that it’s just £1 a week for full website and app access. There’s no commitment, you can cancel any time.
Offer ends in:
${days} days ${hours} hrs ${minutes} mins ${seconds} secs
Or
Comments
Flash sale:
10 weeks of unlimited digital access for £1
Join the conversation with other Spectator readers. Subscribe to leave a comment.
CLAIM OFFERGet 10 weeks of online and app access for just £1. That's a saving of more than 80% off the usual rate.
Already a subscriber? Log in