An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
W. B. Yeats, 1919
Yeats's poem in the voice of an Irish airman of the First World War, who flies not out of hate, love, law or duty but from a lonely impulse of delight.
I know that I shall meet my fateSomewhere among the clouds above;Those that I fight I do not hateThose that I guard I do not love;My country is Kiltartan Cross,My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,No likely end could bring them lossOr leave them happier than before.Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,Nor public man, nor angry crowds,A lonely impulse of delightDrove to this tumult in the clouds;I balanced all, brought all to mind,The years to come seemed waste of breath,A waste of breath the years behindIn balance with this life, this death.