If I were what I would be, and could break...

If I were what I would be, and could break

The buttressed fortress of stupidity

Where laws are sentinels, and lies the masonry,

Surrounded with inertia, weedy lake,

Where centuries of mud lie curdled, and the fake

Grandeur of cardboard turrets, solemn puppetry —

The gods are blinking at us sleepily,

Tired of our games, the muddles that we make,

The bloodshed, idol worshipping, the chess

Of king, queen, castle, bishop, knight and pawn —

The rigid squares of black and white, they dress

With their perpetual challenge — faded, worn,

Are all the creeds and praises you profess

To weary gods that stretch themselves and yawn.