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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