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Best Famous Hilaire Belloc Poems

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by Hilaire Belloc | |

A Trinity

 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.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

The Hippopotamus

 I shoot the Hippopotamus
With bullets made of platinum,
Because if I use leaden ones
His hide is sure to flatten 'em.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

October

 The green elm with the one great bough of gold 
Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, -- 
The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white, 
Harebell and scabious and tormentil, 
That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun, 
Bow down to; and the wind travels too light 
To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern; 
The gossamers wander at their own will.
At heavier steps than birds' the squirrels scold.
The rich scene has grown fresh again and new As Spring and to the touch is not more cool Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might As happy be as earth is beautiful, Were I some other or with earth could turn In alternation of violet and rose, Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due, And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
But if this be not happiness, -- who knows? Some day I shall think this a happy day, And this mood by the name of melancholy Shall no more blackened and obscured be.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

The Hippopotamus

 Behold the hippopotamus!
We laugh at how he looks to us,
And yet in moments dank and grim,
I wonder how we look to him.
Peace, peace, thou hippopotamus! We really look all right to us, As you no doubt delight the eye Of other hippopotami.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

The Lion

 Oh, weep for Mr.
and Mrs.
Bryan! He was eaten by a lion; Following which, the lion's lioness Up and swallowed Bryan's Bryaness.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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 doubt it.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

The Dromedary

 The Dromedary is a cheerful bird:
I cannot say the same about the Kurd.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

The Marmozet

 The species Man and Marmozet
Are intimately linked;
The Marmozet survives as yet,
But Men are all extinct.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

On Two Ministers of State

 Lump says that Caliban's of gutter breed,
And Caliban says Lump's a fool indeed,
And Caliban and Lump and I are all agreed.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

October

 Beauty has a tarnished dress, 
And a patchwork cloak of cloth 
Dipped deep in mournfulness, 
Striped like a moth.
Wet grass where it trails Dyes it green along the hem; She has seven silver veils With cracked bells on them.
She is tired of all these-- Grey gauze, translucent lawn; The broad cloak of Herakles.
Is tangled flame and fawn.
Water and light are wearing thin: She has drawn above her head The warm enormous lion skin Rough red and gold.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

September

 Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days 
Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways, 
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, 
Some crimson poppy of a late delight 
Atoning in its splendor for the flight 
Of summer blooms and joys­
This is September.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

September

 1 The golden-rod is yellow; 
2 The corn is turning brown;
3 The trees in apple orchards
4 With fruit are bending down.
5 The gentian's bluest fringes 6 Are curling in the sun; 7 In dusty pods the milkweed 8 Its hidden silk has spun.
9 The sedges flaunt their harvest, 10 In every meadow nook; 11 And asters by the brook-side 12 Make asters in the brook, 13 From dewy lanes at morning 14 The grapes' sweet odors rise; 15 At noon the roads all flutter 16 With yellow butterflies.
17 By all these lovely tokens 18 September days are here, 19 With summer's best of weather, 20 And autumn's best of cheer.
21 But none of all this beauty 22 Which floods the earth and air 23 Is unto me the secret 24 Which makes September fair.
25 'T is a thing which I remember; 26 To name it thrills me yet: 27 One day of one September 28 I never can forget.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

September

 We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold:
No clock counts this.
When kisses are repeated and the arms hold There is no telling where time is.
It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still: Behind the eye a star, Under the silk of the wrist a sea, tell Time is nowhere.
We stand; leaves have not timed the summer.
No clock now needs Tell we have only what we remember: Minutes uproaring with our heads Like an unfortunate King's and his Queen's When the senseless mob rules; And quietly the trees casting their crowns Into the pools.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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 Cyprus' little son.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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 all our living laughter stops: and hark! The tiny stuffless voices of the dark Have called me, called me, till I needs must follow: Give me the Word and I'll attempt it well.
Say it's the little winking of an eye Which in that issue is uncurtained quite; A little sleep that helpsa moment by Between the thin dawn and the large daylight.
Ah! tell me more than yet was hoped of men; Swear that's true now, and I'll believe it then.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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 army, vague and ordered large
For mile on mile by some pale general,-
I saw them lean by companies to the charge,
But no man living heard the bugle-call.
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.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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 we have the Alpine Race: Oh! What a broad and foolish face! His skin is of a dirty yellow.
He is a most unpleasant fellow.
III The most degraded of them all Mediterranean we call.
His hair is crisp, and even curls, And he is saucy with the girls.


by Hilaire Belloc | |

Lines For A Christmas Card

 May all my enemies go to hell,
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel


by Hilaire Belloc | |

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, good morning: my sister, good night.