William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) wrote this lovely poem in 1918 as a memorial to Major Robert Gregory who died in World War 1 at the age of 36.  I was reminded of it as I wandered round the Commonwealth War Graves at Yatesbury where many young fliers are buried.

It was published after the war in The Wild Swans of Coole (1919) due to its political connotations. The Irish airman, fighting for Britain at a time when Independence was an issue, rejects the usual patriotic rhetoric in favour of the ‘lonely impulse of delight’ that he gets from flying and appears to view his coming death with the supreme indifference of youth.

An Irish Airman foresees his Death

I 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 men, 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.