In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems

Name: In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems
Author: John McCrae

by John McCrae

Pages: about 101
Category: Literature & Fiction
Language: English
Reading time: 1.9 h at 250 wpm

Start readingThe whole book, as cards or one word at a time. 62 min at 450 wpm in Read mode.

From the opening

Here all the day she swings from tide to tide, Here all night long she tugs a rusted chain, A masterless hulk that was a ship of pride, Yet unashamed: her memories remain.
It was Nelson in the 'Captain', Cape St. Vincent far alee, With the 'Vanguard' leading s'uth'ard in the haze -- Little Jervis and the Spaniards and the fight that was to be, Twenty-seven Spanish battleships, great bullies of the sea, And the 'Captain' there to find her day of days.
Right into them the 'Vanguard' leads, but with a sudden tack The Spaniards double swiftly on their trail; Now Jervis overshoots his mark, like some too eager pack, He will not overtake them, haste he e'er so greatly back, But Nelson and the 'Captain' will not fail.
Like a tigress on her quarry leaps the 'Captain' from her place, To lie across the fleeing squadron's way: Heavy odds and heavy onslaught, gun to gun and face to face, Win the ship a name of glory, win the men a death of grace, For a little hold the Spanish fleet in play.
Ended now the "Captain"'s battle, stricken sore she falls aside Holding still her foemen, beaten to the knee: As the 'Vanguard' drifted past her, "Well done, 'Captain'," Jervis cried, Rang the cheers of men that conquered, ran the blood of men that died, And the ship had won her immortality.
Lo! here her progeny of steel and steam, A funnelled monster at her mooring swings: Still, in our hearts, we see her pennant stream, And "Well done, 'Captain'," like a trumpet rings.
Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes (I scorn your beguiling, O sea!) Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes. (A treacherous lover, the sea!) Once I saw as I lay, half-awash in the night A hull in the gloom -- a quick hail -- and a light And I lurched o'er to leeward and saved her for spite From the doom that ye meted to me.

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In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems

From the opening

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