05 fevereiro 2016

The soldier

Rupert Brooke

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.

Fonte (versos 1, 2, 3 [parte] e 14): Carpeaux, O. M. 2011. História da literatura ocidental, vol. 4. Brasília, Senado Federal. Poema publicado em livro em 1915.

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