All Poems
/ page 2470 of 3210 /
Heretics All
© Hilaire Belloc
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.
Ha'nacker Mill
© Hilaire Belloc
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 fallen from Ha'nacker Mill.
A Spiritual Manifestation
© John Greenleaf Whittier
To-day the plant by Williams set
Its summer bloom discloses;
The wilding sweethrier of his prayers
Is crowned with cultured roses.
The Death and Last Confession of Wandering Peter
© Hilaire Belloc
When Peter Wanderwide was young
He wandered everywhere he would:
All that he approved was sung,
And most of what he saw was good.
Love After Love
© Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
In The Harbour: A Quiet Life. (From The French)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Let him who will, by force or fraud innate,
Of courtly grandeurs gain the slippery height;
September
© Hilaire Belloc
And fading still, and pointing to their scars,
They fled in lessening clouds, where gray and high
Dawn lay along the heaven in misty bars;
But watching from that eastern casement, I
Saw the Republic splendid in the sky,
And round her terrible head the morning stars.
Mr Cogito And The Imagination
© Zbigniew Herbert
he would rarely soar
on the wings of a metaphor
and then he fell like Icarus
into the embrace of the Great Mother
Is there any reward?
© Hilaire Belloc
Is there any reward?
I'm beginning to doubt it.
I am broken and bored,
Is there any reward
A Child Of God Longing To See Him Beloved
© William Cowper
There's not an echo round me,
But I am glad should learn,
Drinking Song, On the Excellence of Burgundy Wine
© Hilaire Belloc
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 hoarse, and drink till they spin,
The Enemy
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Would'st thou this monster, that we name the world,
Who round the envied tree of blissful fruit
Lies like a dragon curled
In jealous watch, our venture to dispute;
On Vital Statistics
© Hilaire Belloc
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!
To The Romantic Traditionists
© Allen Tate
I have looked at them long,
My eyes blur; sourceless light
Keeps them forever young
Before our ageing sight.
Hildebrand
© Hilaire Belloc
"Oh murder! What was that, Papa!"
"My child, It was a Motor-Car,
A most Ingenious Toy!
Designed to Captivate and Charm
Much rather than to rouse Alarm
In any English Boy.
On the still surviving Marks of our Saviour's
© Richard Crashaw
Whatever story of their cruelty,
Or nail, or thorn, or spear have writ in Thee,
The Evenlode
© Hilaire Belloc
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.
The Big Baboon
© Hilaire Belloc
The Big Baboon is found upon
The plains of Cariboo:
He goes about with nothing on
(A shocking thing to do).
October
© Hilaire Belloc
Mine host the month, at thy good hostelry,
Tired limbs I'll stretch and steaming beast I'll tether;
Pile on great logs with Gascon hand and free,
And pour the Gascon stuff that laughs at weather;
Swell your tough lungs, north wind, no whit care we,
Singing old songs and drinking wine together.
Godolphin Horne
© Hilaire Belloc
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, in Berkeley Square.
