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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.


Poetry Out Loud Note: This poem has had two titles: “The Soldier” and “Nineteen-Fourteen: The Soldier”. The student may give either title during the recitation.



 

Source: Poetry

  • Living
  • Mythology & Folklore
  • Social Commentaries

Poet Bio

Rupert Brooke
When Rupert Brooke died at the age of 27, he was immortalized as a charismatic poet whom W.B. Yeats called “the handsomest young man in England,” and as a symbol of what would be known as the “Lost Generation.” His patriotic poetry strengthened support for World War I, although he did not see much combat. See More By This Poet

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