Hilaire Belloc Short Poems | Poetry

Famous Short Hilaire Belloc Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Hilaire Belloc. A collection of the all-time best Hilaire Belloc short poems

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Hilaire Belloc | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Hilaire Belloc

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
To epithets like these.
No animal will more repay A treatment kind and fair; At least so lonely people say Who keep a frog (and, by the way, They are extremely rare).


by Hilaire Belloc

The Elephant

 When people call this beast to mind,
 They marvel more and more
At such a little tail behind,
 So large a trunk before.


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

Lines For A Christmas Card

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


by Hilaire Belloc

Frog The

 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
To epithets like these.
No animal will more repay A treatment kind and fair; At least so lonely people say Who keep a frog (and, by the way, They are extremely rare).


by Hilaire Belloc

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 it down for oil.
And so replace the colza bean (A product of the soil).
These facts should all be noted down And ruminated on, By every boy in Oxford town Who wants to be a Don.


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.


by Hilaire Belloc

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.


by Hilaire Belloc

The Catholic Sun

 Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!


by Hilaire Belloc

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 very carefully, but Missed her! His Father, who was standing near, The Loud Explosion chanced to Hear, And reprimanded Algernon For playing with a Loaded Gun.


by Hilaire Belloc

Kings live in Palaces and Pigs in sties

 Kings live in Palaces, and Pigs in sties, 
And youth in Expectation.
Youth is wise.


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

The world is full of double beds

 The world is full of double beds
And most delightful maidenheads, 
Which being so, there’s no excuse
For sodomy of self-abuse.


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

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

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

On Torture: A Public Singer

 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.


by Hilaire Belloc

On the Ladies of Pixton

 Three Graces; and the mother were a Grace, 
But for profounder meaning in her face.


by Hilaire Belloc

The Dromedary

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


by Hilaire Belloc

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 repays The trouble and expense.


by Hilaire Belloc

Tiger The

 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 repays The trouble and expense.


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

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.


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

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 I note it.
I quote it as the faulty poet wrote it.