“The Soldier,” by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915) 

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 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. 

(1914)