Hilaire Belloc

Of three in One and One in three My narrow mind would doubting be Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met

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.

I Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold And very Regent of the untroubled sky,

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.

The nicest child I ever knew Was Charles Augustus Fortescue. He never lost his cap, or tore

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

Who caroused in the Dirt and was corrected by His Uncle. His Uncle came upon Franklin Hyde Carousing in the Dirt.

Who played with a Dangerous Toy, and suffered a Catastrophe of considerable Dimensions When George's Grandmamma was told That George had been as good as gold,

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,

Sally is gone that was so kindly, Sally is gone from Ha'nacker Hill And the Briar grows ever since then so blindly;

The Chief Defect of Henry King Was chewing little bits of String. At last he swallowed some which tied

Heretics all, whoever you may be, In Tarbes or Nimes, or over the sea, You never shall have good words from me.

To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend, To welcome home mankind's mysterious friend Wine, true begetter of all arts that be;

Who was frightened by a Passing Motor, and was brought to Reason "Oh murder! What was that, Papa!" "My child, It was a Motor-Car,

The parents of the learned child (His father and his mother) Were utterly aghast to note

I call you bad, my little child, Upon the title page, Because a manner rude and wild

Is there any reward? I'm beginning to doubt it. I am broken and bored,

Who ran away from his Nurse and was eaten by a Lion There was a Boy whose name was Jim; His Friends were very good to him.

How did the party go in Portman Square? I cannot tell you; Juliet was not there. And how did Lady Gaster's party go?

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

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

Remote and ineffectual Don That dared attack my Chesterton, With that poor weapon, half-impelled,

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

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.

Look, how those steep woods on the mountain's face Burn, burn against the sunset; now the cold Invades our very noon: the year's grown old,

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

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.

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

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.

Ill fares the land to hast'ning ills a prey (1) Where wealth accumulates and men decay.' But how much more unfortunate are those

Who Slammed Doors For Fun And Perished Miserably A trick that everyone abhors In little girls is slamming doors.

I, from a window where the Meuse is wide, Looked eastward out to the September night; The men that in the hopeless battle died

Inviting the influence of a young lady upon the opening year You wear the morning like your dress And are with mastery crown'd;

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

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda? Do you remember an Inn?

The Big Baboon is found upon The plains of Cariboo: He goes about with nothing on

When Jesus Christ was four years old The angels brought Him toys of gold, Which no man ever had bought or sold.

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

When Peter Wanderwide was young He wandered everywhere he would: All that he approved was sung,

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

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.

When people call this beast to mind, They marvel more and more At such a little tail behind,

I will not try to reach again, I will not set my sail alone, To moor a boat bereft of men

Be kind and tender to the Frog, And do not call him names, As "Slimy skin," or "Polly-wog,"

I shoot the Hippopotamus With bullets made of platinum, Because if I use leaden ones

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,

The species Man and Marmozet Are intimately linked; The Marmozet survives as yet,

The Microbe is so very small You cannot make him out at all, But many sanguine people hope

Most Holy Night, that still dost keep The keys of all the doors of sleep, To me when my tired eyelids close

Pale Ebenezer thought it wrong to fight, But Roaring Bill (who killed him) thought it right.

Pelagius lived at Kardanoel And taught a doctrine there How, whether you went to heaven or to hell

The Scorpion is as black as soot, He dearly loves to bite; He is a most unpleasant brute

When I am living in the Midlands That are sodden and unkind, I light my lamp in the evening:

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

To-night in million-voiced London I Was lonely as the million-pointed sky Until your single voice. Ah! So the sun

The tiger, on the other hand, Is kittenish and mild, And makes a pretty playfellow

The Vulture eats between his meals, And that's the reason why He very, very, rarely feels

The Whale that wanders round the Pole Is not a table fish. You cannot bake or boil him whole

The world is full of double beds And most delightful maidenheads, Which being so, there's no excuse

It was my shame, and now it is my boast, That I have loved you rather more than most.

The Scorpion is as black as soot, He dearly loves to bite; He is a most unpleasant brute