As I was marching in Flanders A ghost kept step with me -- Kept step with me and chuckled And muttered ceaselessly: "Once I too marched in Flanders, The very spit of you, And just a hundred years since, To fall at Waterloo. "They buried me in Flanders Upon the field of blood, And long I've lain forgotten Deep in the Flemish mud. "But now you march in Flanders, The very spit of me; To the ending of the day's march I'll bear you company." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA EXHORTATION TO PRAYER by MARGARET MERCER SONG: THE STRICKEN DEER by THOMAS MOORE THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD BEAUTY OF NATURE by HENRY ALFORD |