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. --Rupert Brooke
3 Comments
4/25/2013 09:40:28 pm
My French version :
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Laurie Bestvater
4/26/2013 02:15:01 am
Thank you! This is grand.
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Rob_Graber
4/27/2013 10:16:25 am
My French is very modest; but to my ear, this is a superb job of casting iambic pentameter into French!
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