If I Should Die, Think

If I Should Die, Think Only This Of Me: That There's Some Corner Of A Foreign Field That Is For Ever England.

I Have A Thousand Images Of You In An Hour; All Different And All Coming Back To The Same. I Think Of You Once Against A Sky Line: And On The Hill That Sunday Morning. The Light And The Shadow And Quietness And The Rain And The Wood. And You. Your Arms And Lips And Hair And Shoulders And Voice - You.

A Kiss Makes The Heart Young Again And Wipes Out The Years.

But Only Agony, And That Has Ending; And The Worst Friend And Enemy Is But Death.

Breathless, We Flung Us On A Windy Hill, Laughed In The Sun, And Kissed The Lovely Grass.