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 amidst 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]1 grow In Flanders fields.
Three Songs , opus 79
by Arthur Foote (1853 - 1937)
1. In Flanders Fields  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
Authorship:
- by John McCrae (1872 - 1918), "In Flanders Fields"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Dans les champs des Flandres", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , "Auf Flanderns Feld", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
First published anonymously in Punch, December 8, 1915
1 Ives: "the poppies"Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
2. The soldier  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Authorship:
- by Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915), "The soldier", appears in 1914, no. 5
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First published in New Numbers, December 1914Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. Oh, red is the English rose  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
O, red is the English rose, And the lilies of France are pale, And the poppies grow in the golden wheat, For the men whose eyes are heavy with sleep, Where the ground is red as the English rose, And the lips as the lilies of France are pale, And the ebbing pulses beat fainter and fainter and fail. Oh, red is the English rose, And the lilies of France are pale. And the poppies lie in the level corn For the men who sleep and never return. But wherever they lie an English rose So red, and lily of France so pale, Will grow for a love that never and never can fail.
Authorship:
- by Charles Alexander Richmond (1862 - 1940)
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Researcher for this page: Andrew Schneider [Guest Editor]