The soldier: By Rupert brook

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 of love, her ways to roam
A body of English's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blessed 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 of 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.