Poems (Tree)/If I Were What I Would Be, and Could Break
IF I were what I would be, and could breakThe buttressed fortress of stupidityWhere laws are sentinels, and lies the masonry,Surrounded with inertia, weedy lake,Where centuries of mud lie curdled, and the fakeGrandeur 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 chessOf king, queen, castle, bishop, knight and pawn—The rigid squares of black and white, they dressWith their perpetual challenge—faded, worn,Are all the creeds and praises you professTo weary gods that stretch themselves and yawn.
1917