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3.7.2: “The Soldier”

  • Page ID
    193457
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    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.


    3.7.2: “The Soldier” is shared under a not declared license and was authored, remixed, and/or curated by LibreTexts.

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