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William Butler Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)
Poems by William Butler Yeats : 12 / 402
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?
William Butler Yeats
Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003
Read poems about / on: truth, hair, night
Poems by William Butler Yeats : 12 / 402
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How he speaks with such honesty and yet such grace. His confessions and admittances are always to universal and timeless. How we betray ourselves for want of attention.
How he speaks with such honesty and yet such grace. His confessions and admittances are always to universal and timeless. How we betray ourselves for want of attention.
How he speaks with such honesty and yet such grace. His confessions and admittances are always to universal and timeless. How we betray ourselves for want of attention.
how true. the thirst for attention does lead to the unintentional desertion of rational doings. how clever and emotionally complex this man was. how i yearn to write as he does