If I should die, think only this of me:
That theres
some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore,
shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of Englands, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by
suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England
given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English
heaven.
“The Soldier”by Rupert Brooke
