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 somewh