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 a waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH

EU SEI que atoparei o meu sino
Nalgún lugar arriba entre as nubes;
Os que combato non lles teño xenreira,
E non amo os que defendo;
O meu país é Kiltartan Cross,
E os meus paisanos son os pobres de Kiltartan,
Ningún dos posibles remates lles traería perda
Nin os deixaría mellor que outrora.
Nin lei nin deber me mandaron loitar,
Nin os políticos, nin a multitude arroubada,
Un arrouto solitario de pracer
Levoume a este tumulto entre as nubes;
Eu sopesei todo, trouxen todo o maxín,
Os anos por vir semellaron un malgasto de folgos,
Un malgasto de alento os anos idos
Parella a esta vida, esta morte.

UN PILOTO IRLANDES ALBISCA A SUA MORTE

by YEATS, WILLIAM BUTLER, Ireland, * 1865, + 1939:
Nobel laureate for Literature 1923,

for his always inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form
gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation.