All Poems
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A Pre-Existence
© Madison Julius Cawein
An intimation of some previous life,
Or dark dream, in the present dim-divined,
Of some uncertain sleep--or lived or dreamed
In some dead life--between a dusk and dawn;
Time Cures All
© Hilaire Belloc
It was my shame, and now it is my boast,
That I have loved you rather more than most.
The Lost Heifer
© Austin Clarke
When the herds of the rain were grazing
In the gap of the pure cold wind
And the watery hazes of the hazel
Brought her into my mind,
I thought of the last honey by the water
That no hive can find.
The Yak
© Hilaire Belloc
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 string.
Kings live in Palaces, and Pigs in sties
© Hilaire Belloc
Kings live in Palaces, and Pigs in sties,
And youth in Expectation. Youth is wise.
The Peasant Of The Alps
© Charlotte Turner Smith
FROM THE NOVEL OF CELESTINA.
WHERE cliffs arise by winter crown'd,
And through dark groves of pine around,
Down the deep chasms the snow-fed torrents foam,
The Statue
© Hilaire Belloc
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.
A Night-Picture
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
A GROAN from a dim-lit upper room
A stealthy step on the stairs in the gloom
Charles Augustus Fortescue
© Hilaire Belloc
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 sums,
Ballade to Our Lady of Czestochowa
© Hilaire Belloc
Prince of the degradations, bought and sold,
These verses, written in your crumbling sty,
Proclaim the faith that I have held and hold
And publish that in which I mean to die.
Two In August
© John Crowe Ransom
Two that could not have lived their single lives
As can some husbands and wives
Did something strange: they tensed their vocal cords
And attacked each other with silences and words
Like catapulted stones and arrowed knives.
Lord Finchley
© Hilaire Belloc
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.
The Hippopotamus
© Hilaire Belloc
I shoot the Hippopotamus
With bullets made of platinum,
Because if I use leaden ones
His hide is sure to flatten 'em.
In Praise Of Writing Letters
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Blest be the Man! his Memory at least,
Who found the Art, thus to unfold his Breast,
And taught succeeding Times an easy way
Their secret Thoughts by Letters to convey;
To baffle Absence, and secure Delight,
Which, till that Time, was limited to Sight.
A Trinity
© Hilaire Belloc
Of three in One and One in three
My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet.
Nothing But Death
© Pablo Neruda
And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
The Microbe
© Hilaire Belloc
The Microbe is so very small
You cannot make him out at all,
But many sanguine people hope
To see him through a microscope.
Whom The Gods Love
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Whom the gods love die young. Ah, do not doubt of it.
Laura did well to die. Our loss was a gain for her,
Ours who so loved her laughter, ours who at thought of it
Shrink from a wound yet tender, wailing in vain for her.
