An Irish Airman foresees his DeathI Know that I shall meet my fate	 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 man, nor cheering crowds,	 A lonely impulse of delight	 Drove 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 behind	 In balance with this life, this death.
W.B. Yeats, The Wild Swans at Coole
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