Remembrance Day 11 November 2016

An Irish Airman Foresees his Death  

W B Yeats 1918

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.        

Lest we forget ...

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place, and in the sky,

The larks, still bravely singing, fly,

Scarce heard amid the guns below. 

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, 
We are the dead; short days ago
Take up our quarrel with the foe!
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields. 

The torch; be yours to hold it high! 
To you from failing hands we throw
If ye break faith with us who die
In Flanders fields.
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
In Flanders fields.

      John McCrae, 1872 - 1918