Hilaire Belloc Poems

I

Behold, my child, the Nordic man,
And be as like him, as you can;
...

The Microbe is so very small
You cannot make him out at all,
But many sanguine people hope
To see him through a microscope.
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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 child will not play with him.
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Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There's always laughter and good red wine.
At least I've always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!
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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,
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The Vulture eats between his meals,
And that's the reason why
He very, very, rarely feels
As well as you and I.
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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.
...

When I am living in the Midlands
That are sodden and unkind,
I light my lamp in the evening:
My work is left behind;
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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.
...