top of page
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/aded32_8161de9e6d684d3882d09c7ff29e0076~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_96,h_86,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/aded32_8161de9e6d684d3882d09c7ff29e0076~mv2.png)
The Soldier (1914)Rupert Brooke
00:00 / 01:04The Soldier (1914)
by
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, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
1914 and Other Poems (1915)
bottom of page