World War 1 Poetry Project - Page 10

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. The poem read by: Andrea Rossetti http://vocaroo.com/i/s1kZwP1b1I8s Rupert Brooke is an English poet. He was born in 1887 and died in 1915 of blood poisoning from a mosquito bite while en route to Gallipoli with the Navy.He was aready famois but after his death he became the symbol of the tragic loss of talented youth during the war. http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/rupert-brooke Le soldat Si je dois mourir, dis toi seulement Qu'il y a quelque part un coin de champ étranger Qui sera pour toujours l'Angleterre. Là bas il y aura Dans cette terre riche une poussière encore plus riche, Une poussière que l'Angleterre a porté, formé, éveillé A qui elle a donné des fleurs à aimer, des chemins à parcourir, Un corps appartenant à l'Angleterre, qui a respiré l'air anglais,