If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
Youth is stranger than fiction.
Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.
For Cambridge people rarely smile, Being urban, squat, and packed with guile.
Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?