Rupert Brooke: The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:
  
   That there's 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 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.
  
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