If I should die, think only this of me: <br />That there's some corner of a foreign field <br />That is for ever England. There shall be <br />In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; <br />A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, <br />Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, <br />A body of England's, breathing English air, <br />Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. <br /> <br />And think, this heart, all evil shed away, <br />A pulse in the eternal mind, no less <br />Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; <br />Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; <br />And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, <br />In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1914-v-the-soldier/
