So when you pause and wonder how
The peace that you propose to vow,
When you have won the present row,
Is hidden on your angry brow

And in the darkest hour awakes
To brood upon the awful truth;
We have to live with our mistakes
As age pays for the bill of youth.

Learning to match a public face
With steadfast eyes that help to grow
Within the private life’s digrace
And hide those things we fear to show,

Like politicians with fixed smiles
Purveying doubt or certainty,
To sap with calculating wiles
The bounds of our credulity.

So what is there for me to hate
If by my deeds I seal my fate?
Cannot the consequences wait?
Is it too late? Is it too late?

March 1992