William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

A First Confession

I admit the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me;
My blenching and trembling,
Nothing but dissembling,
Nothing but coquetry.

I long for truth, and yet
I cannot stay from that
My better self disowns,
For a man's attention
Brings such satisfaction
To the craving in my bones.

Brightness that I pull back
From the Zodiac,
Why those questioning eyes
That are fixed upon me?
What can they do but shun me
If empty night replies? 

1. To Ireland in the Coming Times
2. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
3. The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected from the Irish Novelists
4. The Pity of Love
5. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water

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