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“1914 IV: The Dead” by Rupert Brooke
Wire, by Paul Nash These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, And sunset,...
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“1914 V: A Soldier” by Rupert Brooke
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,...
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