Sonnets and Verse :: V EPIGRAMS

V EPIGRAMS

Hilaire Belloc

I

On His Books

When I am dead, I hope it may be said:
“His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.”

II

On Noman, a Guest

Dear Mr Noman, does it ever strike you,
The more we see of you, the less we like you?

III

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

IV

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.

V

On Paunch, a Parasite

Paunch talks against good liquor to excess,
And then about his raving Patroness;
And then he talks about himself. And then
We turn the conversation on to men.

VI

On Hygiene

Of old when folk lay sick and sorely tried
The doctors gave them physic, and they died.
But here’s a happier age: for now we know
Both how to make men sick and keep them so.

VII

On Lady Poltagrue, a Public Peril

The Devil, having nothing else to do,
Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.
My Lady, tempted by a private whim,
To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.

VIII

The Mirror

The mirror held your fair, my Fair,
A fickle moment’s space.
You looked into mine eyes, and there
For ever fixed your face.

Keep rather to your looking-glass
Than my more faithful eyes:
It told the truth—Alas! my lass,
My constant memory lies.

IX

The Elm

This is the place where Dorothea smiled.
I did not know the reason, nor did she.
But there she stood, and turned, and smiled at me:
A sudden glory had bewitched the child.
The corn at harvest, and a single tree.
This is the place where Dorothea smiled.

X

The Telephone

To-night in million-voicÈd London I
Was lonely as the million-pointed sky
Until your single voice. Ah! So the Sun
Peoples all heaven, although he be but one.

XI

The Statue

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
(Which was your image), ride more slowly on.

XII

Epitaph on the Favourite Dog of a Politician

Here lies a Dog: may every Dog that dies
Lie in security—as this Dog lies.

XIII

Epitaph on the Politician Himself

Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician’s corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.

XIV

Another on the Same

This, the last ornament among the peers,
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death’s what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.

XV

On Mundane Acquaintances

Good morning, Algernon: Good morning, Percy.
Good morning, Mrs Roebeck. Christ have mercy!

XVI

On a Rose for Her Bosom

Go, lovely rose, and tell the lovelier fair
That he which loved her most was never there.

XVII

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.

XVIII

On a Prophet

Of old ’twas Samuel sought the Lord: to-day
The Lord runs after Samuel—so they say.

XIX

On a Dead Hostess

Of this bad world the loveliest and the best
Has smiled and said “Good Night,” and gone to rest.

XX

On a Great Election

The accursÈd power which stands on Privilege
(And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge)
Broke—and Democracy resumed her reign:
(Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne).

XXI

On a Mistaken Mariner

He whistled thrice to pass the Morning Star,
Thinking that near which was so very far.
So I, whenas I meet my Dearest Dear,
Still think that far which is so very near.

XXII

On a Sleeping Friend

Lady, when your lovely head
Droops to sink among the Dead,
And the quiet places keep
You that so divinely sleep;
Then the dead shall blessÈd be
With a new solemnity,
For such Beauty, so descending,
Pledges them that Death is ending.
Sleep your fill—but when you wake
Dawn shall over Lethe break.

XXIII

Fatigued

I’m tired of Love: I’m still more tired of Rhyme.
But Money gives me pleasure all the time.

XXIV

On Benicia, who Wished Him Well

Benicia wished me well; I wished her well.
And what I wished her more I may not tell.

XXV

The False Heart

I said to Heart, “How goes it?” Heart replied:
“Right as a Ribstone Pippin!” But it lied.

XXVI

Partly from the Greek

She would be as the stars in your sight
That turn in the endless hollow;
That tremble, and always follow
The quiet wheels of the Night.

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