Of many setting out but few returning thence!

They died for England; did they die in vain?
⁠Them undefeated must herself defeat?
Tears fell!—Ah, no, a dash of wintry rain!
⁠How those red poppies warm the shivering street!
⁠⁠The day is fading fast;
A bitter wind blows dead leaves here and there,
⁠And homing passengers go hurrying past,
All wearing poppies—poppies everywhere.
⁠⁠The skies are overcast—
⁠Red poppies and the ghostly shadows fleet
Of dead leaves flying in the darkening air.

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,