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,