Two Poems About the Dead

1. In Flanders Fields (John McCrae):

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.

2. If Death Is Kind (Sara Teasdale):

Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending,
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.

We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long, gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free.