Hilaire Belloc
October
Look, how those steep woods on the mountain’s face Burn, burn against the sunset; now the cold Invades our very noon: the year’s grown old, Mornings are dark, and evenings come apace. The vines
The Yak
As a friend to the children Commend me the Yak. You will find it exactly the thing: It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back, Or lead it about with a
Lines to a Don
Remote and ineffectual Don That dared attack my Chesterton, With that poor weapon, half-impelled, Unlearnt, unsteady, hardly held, Unworthy for a tilt with men Your quavering and corroded pen; Don poor at Bed and
On the Little God
Of all the gods that gave me all their glories To-day there deigns to walk with me but one. I lead him by the hand and tell him stories. It is the Queen of
Godolphin Horne
Who was cursed with the Sin of Pride, and Became a Boot-Black. Godolphin Horne was Nobly Born; He held the Human Race in Scorn, And lived with all his Sisters where His father lived,
Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine
To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend, To welcome home mankind’s mysterious friend Wine, true begetter of all arts that be; Wine, privilege of the completely free; Wine the recorder; wine the sagely strong; Wine,
September
I, from a window where the Meuse is wide, Looked eastward out to the September night; The men that in the hopeless battle died Rose, and deployed, and stationed for the fight; A brumal
Is there any reward?
Is there any reward? I’m beginning to doubt it. I am broken and bored, Is there any reward Reassure me, Good Lord, And inform me about it. Is there any reward? I’m beginning to
Tarantella
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda? Do you remember an Inn? And the tedding and the bedding Of the straw for a bedding, And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees, And the
Ballade to Our Lady of Czestochowa
I Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold And very Regent of the untroubled sky, Whom in a dream St. Hilda did behold And heard a woodland music passing by: You shall receive me when
Song
Inviting the influence of a young lady upon the opening year You wear the morning like your dress And are with mastery crown’d; When as you walk your loveliness Goes shining all around: Upon
The Early Morning
The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother. The moon on my left and the dawn on my right. My brother,
Lord Lundy
Who was too Freely Moved to Tears, and thereby ruined his Political Career Lord Lundy from his earliest years Was far too freely moved to Tears. For instance if his Mother said, “Lundy! It’s
Talking (and Singing) of the Nordic Man
I Behold, my child, the Nordic man, And be as like him, as you can; His legs are long, his mind is slow, His hair is lank and made of tow. II And here
The Big Baboon
The Big Baboon is found upon The plains of Cariboo: He goes about with nothing on (A shocking thing to do). But if he dressed up respectably And let his whiskers grow, How like
The Statue
When we are dead, some Hunting-boy will pass And find a stone half-hidden in tall grass And grey with age: but having seen that stone (Which was your image), ride more slowly on.
The Frog
Be kind and tender to the Frog, And do not call him names, As “Slimy skin,” or “Polly-wog,” Or likewise “Ugly James,” Or “Gap-a-grin,” or “Toad-gone-wrong,” Or “Bill Bandy-knees”: The Frog is justly sensitive
The Tiger
The tiger, on the other hand, Is kittenish and mild, And makes a pretty playfellow For any little child. And mothers of large families (Who claim to common sense) Will find a tiger well
The Telephone
To-night in million-voiced London I Was lonely as the million-pointed sky Until your single voice. Ah! So the sun Peoples all heaven, although he be but one.
The Evenlode
Torture will give a dozen pence or more To keep a drab from bawling at his door. The public taste is quite a different thing – Torture is positively paid to sing.
Lord Finchley
Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right! It is the business of the wealthy man To give employment to the artisan.
Hildebrand
Who was frightened by a Passing Motor, and was brought to Reason “Oh murder! What was that, Papa!” “My child, It was a Motor-Car, A most Ingenious Toy! Designed to Captivate and Charm Much
Jim
Who ran away from his Nurse and was eaten by a Lion There was a Boy whose name was Jim; His Friends were very good to him. They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and
Algernon
Who played with a Loaded Gun, and, on missing his Sister was reprimanded by his Father. Young Algernon, the Doctor’s Son, Was playing with a Loaded Gun. He pointed it towards his Sister, Aimed
The Lion
The Lion, the Lion, he dwells in the Waste, He has a big head and a very small waist; But his shoulders are stark, and his jaws they are grim, And a good little
Franklin Hyde
Who caroused in the Dirt and was corrected by His Uncle. His Uncle came upon Franklin Hyde Carousing in the Dirt. He Shook him hard from Side to Side And Hit him till it
The Vulture
The Vulture eats between his meals, And that’s the reason why He very, very, rarely feels As well as you and I. His eye is dull, his head is bald, His neck is growing
The Death and Last Confession of Wandering Peter
When Peter Wanderwide was young He wandered everywhere he would: All that he approved was sung, And most of what he saw was good. When Peter Wanderwide was thrown By Death himself beyond Auxerre,
Ha'nacker Mill
Sally is gone that was so kindly, Sally is gone from Ha’nacker Hill And the Briar grows ever since then so blindly; And ever since then the clapper is still… And the sweeps have
The Whale
The Whale that wanders round the Pole Is not a table fish. You cannot bake or boil him whole Nor serve him in a dish; But you may cut his blubber up And melt
Henry King
The Chief Defect of Henry King Was chewing little bits of String. At last he swallowed some which tied Itself in ugly Knots inside. Physicians of the Utmost Fame Were called at once; but
Heretics All
Heretics all, whoever you may be, In Tarbes or Nimes, or over the sea, You never shall have good words from me. Caritas non conturbat me. But Catholic men that live upon wine Are
The Microbe
The Microbe is so very small You cannot make him out at all, But many sanguine people hope To see him through a microscope. His jointed tongue that lies beneath A hundred curious rows
Juliet
How did the party go in Portman Square? I cannot tell you; Juliet was not there. And how did Lady Gaster’s party go? Juliet was next me and I do not know.
The Night
Most Holy Night, that still dost keep The keys of all the doors of sleep, To me when my tired eyelids close Give thou repose. And let the far lament of them That chaunt
George
Who played with a Dangerous Toy, and suffered a Catastrophe of considerable Dimensions When George’s Grandmamma was told That George had been as good as gold, She promised in the afternoon To buy him
On Vital Statistics
Ill fares the land to hast’ning ills a prey (1) Where wealth accumulates and men decay.’ But how much more unfortunate are those Where wealth declines and population grows! (1)This line is execrable; and
Hilaire Belloc – The South Country
When I am living in the Midlands That are sodden and unkind, I light my lamp in the evening: My work is left behind; And the great hills of the South Country Come back
Drinking Song, On the Excellence of Burgundy Wine
My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin, Come, open the door to us, let us come in. A score of stout fellows who think it no sin If they toast till they’re
The Pelagian Drinking Song
Pelagius lived at Kardanoel And taught a doctrine there How, whether you went to heaven or to hell It was your own affair. It had nothing to do with the Church, my boy, But
Rebecca
Who Slammed Doors For Fun And Perished Miserably A trick that everyone abhors In little girls is slamming doors. A wealthy banker’s little daughter Who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater (By name Rebecca Offendort),
Because My Faltering Feet
Because my faltering feet may fail to dare The first descendant of the steps of Hell Give me the Word in time that triumphs there. I too must pass into the misty hollow Where
The Birds
When Jesus Christ was four years old The angels brought Him toys of gold, Which no man ever had bought or sold. And yet with these He would not play. He made Him small
Charles Augustus Fortescue
The nicest child I ever knew Was Charles Augustus Fortescue. He never lost his cap, or tore His stockings or his pinafore: In eating Bread he made no Crumbs, He was extremely fond of