Time Cures All

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

Hilaire Belloc

Hilaire Belloc was an Anglo-French writer and historian, known for his poetry, essays, and children's books. Born on July 27, 1870, in France, he became a British citizen and was a prominent figure in early 20th-century British literature. Belloc was a devout Catholic, which significantly influenced his writings. He was a close friend of G.K. Chesterton and shared similar views on social and political issues. Belloc passed away on July 16, 1953, leaving behind a rich legacy of literary works.

Hilaire Belloc

Heroic Poem In Praise Of Wine

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

The Dromedary

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

The Evenlode

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

On The Ladies Of Pixton

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Too Late

Too late I bring my heart, too late 'tis yours;
Too late to bring the true love that endures;
Too long, unthrift, I gave it here and there,
Spent it in idle love and idle song;
Youth seemed so rich, with kisses all to spare -
Too late! too long!

Too late, O fairy woman; dreams and dust
Are in your hair, your face is dimly thrust
Among the flowers; and Time, that all forgets,
Even you forgets, and only I prolong
The face I love, with ache of vain regrets -
Too late! too long!

Too long I tarried, and too late I come,
O eyes and lips so strangely sealed and dumb:
My heart - what is it now, beloved, to you?
My love - that doth your holy silence wrong?
Ah! fairy face, star-crowned and chrismed with dew -
Too late! too long!

Richard Le Gallienne

A Lover's Vows

Scenes of love and days of pleasure,
I must leave them all, lassie.
Scenes of love and hours of leisure,
All are gone for aye, lassie.
No more thy velvet-bordered dress
My fond and longing een shall bless,
Thou lily in the wilderness;
And who shall love thee then, lassie?
Long I've watched thy look so tender,
Often clasped thy waist so slender:
Heaven, in thine own love defend her,
God protect my own lassie.

By all the faith I've shown afore thee,
I'll swear by more than that, lassie:
By heaven and earth I'll still adore thee,
Though we should part for aye, lassie!
By thy infant years so loving,
By thy woman's love so moving,
That white breast thy goodness proving,
I'm thine for aye, through all, lassie!
By the sun that shines for eve...

John Clare

What We All Think

That age was older once than now,
In spite of locks untimely shed,
Or silvered on the youthful brow;
That babes make love and children wed.

That sunshine had a heavenly glow,
Which faded with those "good old days"
When winters came with deeper snow,
And autumns with a softer haze.

That - mother, sister, wife, or child -
The "best of women" each has known.
Were school-boys ever half so wild?
How young the grandpapas have grown!

That but for this our souls were free,
And but for that our lives were blest;
That in some season yet to be
Our cares will leave us time to rest.

Whene'er we groan with ache or pain, -
Some common ailment of the race, -
Though doctors think the matter plain, -
That ours is "a peculiar case."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Heretics All

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

But Catholic men that live upon wine
Are deep in the water, and frank, and fine;
Wherever I travel I find it so,
Benedicamus Domino.

On childing women that are forelorn,
And men that sweat in nothing but scorn:
That is on all that ever were born,
Miserere Domine.

To my poor self on my deathbed,
And all my dear companions dead,
Because of the love that I bore them,
Dona Eis Requiem.

Hilaire Belloc

Love's Plea.

I love thee, my darling, both now and forever,
    My heart feels the thralldom of love's mystic spell,
'Tis fettered with shackles which nothing can sever,
    To the heart which responds to its passionate swell.

I love thee, my darling, with love that is stronger,
    Than all the fond ties which the heart holds enshrined;
Adversity, sorrow or pain can no longer
    Detract from this heart, if with thine intertwined.

I love thee, my darling, with sacred affection,
    Which death, nor the cycles of time shall efface;
Nor from my heart's mirror, erase thy reflection,
    Nor tear thy fond heart from its fervent embrace.

Alfred Castner King

Time And The Lover.

Oh, Time! thy merits who can know?
Thy real nature who discover?
The absent lover calls thee slow, -
"Too rapid," says the happy lover.

With bloom thy cheeks are now refin'd,
Now to thine eye the tear is given;
At once too cruel and too kind, -
A little hell, a little heaven.

Go then, thou charming myst'ry, go! -
Yes, tho' thou often dost amuse me,
Tho' many a joy to thee I owe,
At once I thank thee and abuse thee.

John Carr