Flanders

'Our armies swore terribly in Flanders,'cried my uncle Toby,ö'but nothing to this.'

—Sterne, Laurence

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.

—McCrae,John

And the softness of my body will be guarded by embrace By each button, hook, and lace. For the man who should loose me is dead, Fighting with the Duke in Flanders, In a pattern called a war. Christ! What are patterns for?

—Lowell, Amy