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 black cat among roses,
Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,
The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock.
The garden is very still,
It is dazed with moonlight,
Contented with perfume,
Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies.
Firefly lights open and vanish
High as the tip buds of the golden glow
Low as the sweet alyssum flowers at my feet.
I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat
Wake to their residue,
Sweat, and a clinging sheet.
My flesh was its own shield:
Where it was gashed, it healed.
I grew as I explored
The body I could trust
If I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.
But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
By his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
I adored being out on the immense, rushing sea, and I had myriad dreams,
Like slumbering, yellow days of summer, with its vibrant, gorgeous themes.
My dream was for a great sea adventure, when the blush was on the rose,
Like dreamy, starlit eves on a beach, with the cool sand between my toes.
My best friend and I liked to go sailing, like pretty bluebirds in blue skies,
Or the autumn colors' seemly drifting, in the hours of vivid sunset reprise.
Family members oftentimes would join us, like crickets in the bird chorus,
I was aspiring to be a professional dancer, which had long been my dream,
As rogue planets head out on their own, from the stars that reign supreme.
I was awash in unbounded enthusiasm, like yellow sunshine's fresh sheen,
Or premier, perennial days of springtime, the time all is budding and green.
But, despite my unfailing readiness, I had a likely insurmountable problem,
In the fact that my dancing was mediocre, artless to the beat of the drum.
Though this was somewhat discouraging, I continued practicing and trying,
Pretty blue sky change
just as the sun is leaving
Peace of believing
Bees return from day's searching
still butterflies under moon
Blooms closing petals
Lustrous fireflies are dreaming
Starlit muted hues
Birds will issue a warning
I was a famous, learned historian, living a good life in prevalent today;
As vast, grey clouds must move on, once wild storms are swept away.
I spent many golden days and plum evenings, perusing historical books,
Like a nature lover, passing lovely green hills, is casting backward looks.
I lived my life of vivid, probable future, waltzing with a prosperous past;
As sun and moon meet in rouge, dawn skies, just for the lively contrast!
I had written several bestselling books, on academic, engrossing topics,
Calm, tropical moon was huge, filling the night skies with sheen;
And seemed to touch green treetops, and wild, songbird scenes.
The moon grazed mountains and jade hills, when I lay dreaming,
In the warm fragrance of midnight, with dim, starlight streaming.
Full moon was in Daylily Meadow, with a dark, mysterious breeze,
And its loveliness nearly touched the ground, in the hours of ease.
All the obsidian night was aglow, with the nebulous, magical light,
For even when none are observing, nature offers charming sights.