Michael, who was crunched by time and chance and an automobile two months ago and only yesterday was released from his rehab facility, reminded me this morning of the poem, ‘An Irish Airman Foresees His Death’, by William Butler Yeats, part of which I quoted at the front of STORM PASSAGE. Though he mentioned it in a different context, it is appropriate on this one hundredth anniversary of the end of WW1.
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 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, 1919
