There have been times, I must admit,
When I've imagined I knew what to do.
That doesn't mean that I always did it,
But then, at least, I could pretend I knew
What I was choosing not to do. I could
With gay, intrepid certainty declare
That I was clearly doing what I should
Or else ignoring it. Now I don't dare
To make such boldly meaningful decrees.
I hedge about; I think, I may, I might,
Avoiding definition by degrees
Of claimed uncertainty. But is that right?
Or should I, as I used to do, feel free
To say I know my mind convincingly?
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