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.