by Rupert Brooke
if I should die, think only this on 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 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.