And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.

A lonely impulse of delight

Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought.

The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.

How but in custom and in ceremony are innocence and beauty born?

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 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.

Be secret and exult, Because of all things known That is most difficult.