Rupert Brooke(1887–1915)
The Soldier
If I s h o u l d die, think only this of m e :
T h a t there's s o m e corner of a foreign field
T h a t is for ever E n g l a n d . T h e r e shall be
In that rich earth a richer d u s t c o n c e a l e d ;
A dust w h o m E n g l a n d bore, s h a p e d , m a d e aware,
G a v e , once, her flowers to love, her ways to r o a m ,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
W a s h e d by the rivers, blest by s u n s of h o m e .
A n d think, this heart, all evil s h e d 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;
A n d laughter, learnt of friends; a n d g e n t l e n e s s ,
In hearts at p e a c e , u n d e r an E n g l i s h heaven.
November-December 19141914