Hilaire Belloc Poems

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;
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Is there any reward?
I'm beginning to doubt it.
I am broken and bored,
Is there any reward
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To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend,
To welcome home mankind's mysterious friend
Wine, true begetter of all arts that be;
Wine, privilege of the completely free;
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Child! do not throw this book about!
Refrain from the unholy pleasure
Of cutting all the pictures out!
Preserve it as your chiefest treasure.
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The Dromedary is a cheerful bird:
I cannot say the same about the Kurd.
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When Jesus Christ was four years old
The angels brought Him toys of gold,
Which no man ever had bought or sold.
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How did the party go in Portman Square?
I cannot tell you; Juliet was not there.
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