The Soldier
If I should die, think only this of me
That there’s a 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, shared, made one,
Gave once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam
A body of England’s, breathing English air
Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home
