 The soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons of home. And think, this heart all evil shed away, a pulse in the eternal mind, no less give somewhere back the thoughts of England given. Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day, and laughter learned of friends. And gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Antoinette Griffin. November 14, 2009, Orlando, Florida. Stories with Antoinette.com. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by the sons of home. And think, this heart all evil shed away, a pulse in the eternal mind, no less give somewhere back the thoughts by England given. Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day, and laughter learned of friends. And gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Bob Sherman. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons of home. And think, this heart all evil shed away, a pulse in the eternal mind, no less give somewhere back the thoughts by England given. Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day, and laughter learned of friends. And gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Christian Storms from Tokyo, Japan, www.chris.storms.net. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons of home. And think, this heart all evil shed away, a pulse in the eternal mind, no less give somewhere back the thoughts by England given. Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day, and laughter learned of friends. And gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Icy Jumbo. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by the sons 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 learned of friends. And gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Corey Samuel. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 as happy as her day, and laughter learned of friends. And gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Dana Meilinger in November 2009. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in the hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Ernst Patinama. 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 Rome. A body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Ellie. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Catherine. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Kim Stish. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Perry. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by the sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Philip Griffiths. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Peter Yersley. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. Remembrance Sunday 2009. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Raven Notation. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, read for LibriVox.org by Tricia G. 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 Rome, a body of England's breathing English air, washed by the rivers, blessed by sons 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 learned of friends and gentleness in hearts at peace, under an English heaven. End of poem.