If you should think of dying, think of me. There'd be some corner in another mind That was forever sadness. There would be A rich potential lost. In you I find The laughter learnt of friends, and gentleness and think, your heart, all goodness shed away without which England always will be less its love, its brilliance, choosing Night o'er day. I know your hurt, the inescapable part of that fey softness where your beauty lies, The vulnerable you is my sunshine. If you despise the grandeur of your heart so what was made God's image cruelly dies 'twould shadow all your sweetness with your crime.
It has a clear debt to Rupert Brooke.