| George Herbert Clarke, ed. (1873–1953). A Treasury of War Poetry. 1917. |
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| 79. The Soldier |
| | | By Rupert Brooke |
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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, | 5 |
| 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. | |
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| And think this heart, all evil shed away, | |
| A pulse in the eternal mind, no less | 10 |
| 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. | |
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