Maxioms by Rupert Brooke
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
read more
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.
Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.
Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.
