By Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915)
The Soldier
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.
By Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915)
| Poem | Author |
| The Secret People | G K Chesterton |
| Alcuin's Poem of York | Alcuin (735 - 804) |
| A Dream Or No | Thomas Hardy © (1840 - 1928) |
| Cornish Cliffs | Sir John Betjeman © (1906 - 1984) |
| Ludlow | John Creber © |
| Jerusalem | William Blake |
| Home Thoughts, From Abroad | Robert Browning (1812 - 1889) |
| England, My England | William Ernest Henley (1849 - 1903) |
| Happy Is England | John Keats (1795 - 1821) |
| Young England | William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850) |
| Song to the men of England | Percy Bysshe Shelley |
| I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud | William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850) |
| ETERNAL ENGLAND | Thurstan Bassett © |
| Memories of Winter on a Dorset Moor | Harry E Wheeler © |
| The English Country Lane | Chris Plows © |
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