Wednesday, March 24, 2010

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.
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Albeit I find it hard to appreciate his loony ideas on history being intertwining gyres, Yeats, in this poem, beautifully portrays the very instant the pilot faces his death. Yeats reminds us how often we are stuck in living in the past or in the future; only when we are faced with dire situations do we veritably live and cherish the present.

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