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.

Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked read more

Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.

One may not doubt that, somehow Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the read more

One may not doubt that, somehow Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the reverent eye must see
A purpose in Liquidity.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

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.