rebness

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 iights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

- Rupert Brooke, The Soldier

I am definitely more of the Wilfred Owen mindset to war and bloodshed, and screw patriotism, but at least the eleventh of November can be used to remember the human cost of war and the ultimate sacrifice given by so many millions of people, whether justified or not. Rest in peace.

ETA: English pome only chosen because I couldn't think of any non-bitter war poem that didn't focus on England. Er, yeah.