I Shall Not Try To Fool Myself

I shall not try to fool myself: Care's roosted in my misty heart. Why am I now a charlatan? Why am I now a hooligan? I'm not a crook - I don't steal wood, Or shoot unhappy prisoners. I'm only a street Arab, one Who smiles at everyone he meets. Naughty Moscow boulevardier! Every back-street mongrel Round Tvyersky Street knows well The sound of my light step. And every drayhorse shakes its head When I go by. For I'm a friend To animals and every line I write cures the bestial soul. My top-hat's not for women - My heart can't live in stupid lust. It's handier, my sadness quenched, For ladling oats to hungry mares. Amongst men I have no true friend, Acknowledging another realm. I'm ready to take off my finest tie To hang about a horse's neck. Already now I cease to ache. The horror in my misty heart has cleared. This is why I'm a charlatan. This is why I'm a hooligan.