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.
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.
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.
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.
I wrote a comment for this yesterday, but I must have not published it.
ReplyDeleteI love the perspective of the soldier as a sympathetic character. Loved, lost, and brainwashed by their service.
The POV as the dead is different too. Their deaths need to be redeemed/avenged by more fighting and killing. This displays the brainwashing of believing in their cause. Instead of hoping for peace or an end of the war, these dead soldiers hope the enemy is defeated.
Jimbo