In Flanders Fields and Other Poems

<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"></SPAN></p> <br/> <h2> The Unconquered Dead </h2> <p>". . . defeated, with great loss."<br/></p> <p>Not we the conquered! Not to us the blame<br/> Of them that flee, of them that basely yield;<br/> Nor ours the shout of victory, the fame<br/> Of them that vanquish in a stricken field.<br/> <br/> That day of battle in the dusty heat<br/> We lay and heard the bullets swish and sing<br/> Like scythes amid the over-ripened wheat,<br/> And we the harvest of their garnering.<br/> <br/> Some yielded, No, not we! Not we, we swear<br/> By these our wounds; this trench upon the hill<br/> Where all the shell-strewn earth is seamed and bare,<br/> Was ours to keep; and lo! we have it still.<br/> <br/> We might have yielded, even we, but death<br/> Came for our helper; like a sudden flood<br/> The crashing darkness fell; our painful breath<br/> We drew with gasps amid the choking blood.<br/> <br/> The roar fell faint and farther off, and soon<br/> Sank to a foolish humming in our ears,<br/> Like crickets in the long, hot afternoon<br/> Among the wheat fields of the olden years.<br/> <br/> Before our eyes a boundless wall of red<br/> Shot through by sudden streaks of jagged pain!<br/> Then a slow-gathering darkness overhead<br/> And rest came on us like a quiet rain.<br/> <br/> Not we the conquered! Not to us the shame,<br/> Who hold our earthen ramparts, nor shall cease<br/> To hold them ever; victors we, who came<br/> In that fierce moment to our honoured peace.<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />