The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:

    That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is forever 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 England's, breathing English air,

    Washed by the rivers, blest by the 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.