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THE SOLDIER
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 England’s air Washed by the river, 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.
Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
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