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.
