Yet, Behind The Night, Waits

Stands The Church Clock At Ten To Three? And Is There Honey Still For Tea?

Hearts At Peace, Under An English Heaven.

If I Should Die, Think Only This Of Me: That There's Some Corner Of A Foreign Field That Is Forever 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 In My Flower-beds, I Think, Smile The Carnation And The Pink.

I Thought When Love For You Died, I Should Die. It's Dead. Alone, Most Strangely, I Live On.