The Soldier

I thought today I might remind you of a much-loved poem, which will be familiar to you all. The Soldier Rupert Brooke 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, learned of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.