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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.
Rupert Brooke |
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Gravetown of Rouen:
| Surname |
Firstname |
|
|
| Bowditch |
William George |
(1880-1918) |
More Info |
| Law |
Robert Archibald Fitzgerald |
(1897-1918) |
More Info |
| Maidment |
George William |
|
More Info |
| Trent |
B.E. |
(1891-1918) |
More Info |
|
