Saint George for Merrie England! Hear the shout
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,