Classic Poem

I hate, —
Although my speech is mild and temperate,
I hate with hidden and yet deep disgust
The small tin gods that sit and prate
About themselves the livelong day,
Shouting like corncrakes, " Great, Great, Great
We are the people. Bow to us!
Let the old gods be swept away,
We are the hierarchy of tin.
The olden gods you loved of late,
The golden gods are out of date
Greater than law we sit in state
Singing of decadence and lust,
We mock at righteousness and sin. "
The small tin gods they prattle thus.

I hate them,
Windy in the head,
Who for the sake of some small art
Disdain to sweat for daily bread,
And live apart
Upon their fellows' honest toil
By desk and counter, mine and soil.
Shaggy of head and slack of tie,
They babble in the market-place,
" Behold us, all ye passers-by,
We rule the world by right and grace.
The old-world gods are long since dead
And we, the new gods, rule instead. "

I hate them and the creed they teach,
But being mild of look and speech
I hide my hatred in my heart.