An irish airman forsees 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 country men 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, no 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.