In Flanders Field the poppies bow 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

In Flanders fields the poppies blow / Between the crosses, row on row.

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 among the guns below.

Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.

The poppies hung Dew-dabbed on their stalks.

He hath bent his bow, and set me as a mark for the arrow.