THE DEATH AND LAST CONFESSION OF WANDERING PETER 56 DEDICATORY ODE 58 DEDICATION ON THE GIFT OF A BOOK TO A CHILD 66 DEDICATION OF A CHILD’S BOOK OF IMAGINARY TALES 67 HOMAGE 68 FILLE-LA-HAINE 69 THE MOON’S FUNERAL 70 THE HAPPY JOURNALIST 72 LINES TO A DON 74 NEWDIGATE POEM 77 THE YELLOW MUSTARD 82 ON HYGIENE 83 THE FALSE HEART 84 SONNET UPON GOD THE WINE-GIVER 85 THE POLITICIAN OR THE IRISH EARLDOM 86 SHORT BALLAD AND POSTSCRIPT ON CONSOLS 89 INTRODUCTION By JOYCE KILMER Far from the poets being astray in prose-writing (said Francis Thompson) it might plausibly be contended that English prose, as an art, is but a secondary stream of the Pierian fount, and owes its very origin to the poets. The first writer one remembers with whom prose became an art was Sir Philip Sidney. And Sidney was a poet. This quotation is relevant to a consideration of Hilaire Belloc, because Belloc is a poet who happens to be known chiefly for his prose. His _Danton_ and _Robespierre_ have been read by every intelligent student of French history, his _Path to Rome_, that most high-spirited and engaging of travel books, has passed through many editions, his political writings are known to all lovers--and many foes--of democracy, his whimsically imaginative novels have their large and appreciative audience, and his exquisite brief essays are contemporary classics. And since the unforgetable month of August of the unforgetable year 1914, Hilaire Belloc has added to the number of his friends many thousands who care little for _belles lettres_ and less for the French Revolution--he has become certainly the most popular, and by general opinion the shrewdest and best informed, of all chroniclers and critics of the Great War. There is nothing, it may be said, about these achievements to indicate the poet. How can this most public of publicists woo the shy and exacting Muse? His superabundant energy may now and again overflow in little lyrical rivulets, but how can he find time to turn it into the deep channels of song?