When Peter Wanderwide was young <br />He wandered everywhere he would: <br />All that he approved was sung, <br />And most of what he saw was good. <br /> <br />When Peter Wanderwide was thrown <br />By Death himself beyond Auxerre, <br />He chanted in heroic tone <br />To priests and people gathered there: <br /> <br />"If all that I have loved and seen <br />Be with me on the Judgment Day, <br />I shall be saved the crowd between <br />From Satan and his foul array. <br /> <br />"Almighty God will surely cry, <br />'St. Michael! Who is this that stands <br />With Ireland in his dubious eye, <br />And Perigord between his hands, <br /> <br />"'And on his arm the stirrup-thongs, <br />And in his gait the narrow seas, <br />And in his mouth Burgundian songs, <br />But in his heart the Pyrenees?' <br /> <br />"St. Michael then will answer right <br />(And not without angelic shame), <br />'I seem to know his face by sight: <br />I cannot recollect his name . . . . ?' <br /> <br />"St. Peter will befriend me then, <br />Because my name is Peter too: <br />'I know him for the best of men <br />That ever walloped barley brew. <br /> <br />"'And though I did not know him well <br />And though his soul were clogged with sin, <br />I hold the keys of Heaven and Hell. <br />Be welcome, noble Peterkin.' <br /> <br />"Then shall I spread my native wings <br />And tread secure the heavenly floor, <br />And tell the blessed doubtful things <br />Of Val d'Aran and Perigord." <br /> <br />_________ <br /> <br />This was the last and solemn jest <br />Of weary Peter Wanderwide. <br />He spoke it with a failing zest, <br />And having spoken it, he died.<br /><br />Hilaire Belloc<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-death-and-last-confession-of-wandering-peter/
