Weekly Poem: An Irish Airman Forsees His Death

Over the summer period (December-February), my goal is to memorise  one poem per week.   This week, I chose to memorise and recite An Irish Airman Forsees His Death by W.B Yeats.

Apologies for the quality of the recording.

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.

Some corrections: 
I pronounced ‘tumult’ incorrectly (I don’t hear it  being used very often) and should have said ‘My country is Kiltartan Cross’  as opposed to ‘My country is Kiltartan’s Cross’.

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