An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

    Somewhere among the clouds above；

    Those that I fight I do not hate，

    Those that I guard I do not love；

    My country is Kiltartan Cross，

    My countrymen Kiltartan‘s poor，

    No likely end could bring them loss

    Or leave them happier than before.

    Nor law， nor duty bade me fight，

    Nor public men， nor cheering crowds，

    A lonely impulse² of delight

    Drove to this tumult³ in the clouds；

    I balanced all， brought all to mind，

    The years to come seemed waste of breath，

    A waste of breath the years behind

    In balance with this life， this death.