Poems begining by W

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Westgate-On-Sea

© John Betjeman

Hark, I hear the bells of Westgate,
I will tell you what they sigh,
Where those minarets and steeples
Prick the open Thanet sky.

Winter Seascape

© John Betjeman

The sea runs back against itself
With scarcely time for breaking wave
To cannonade a slatey shelf
And thunder under in a cave.

Winter Landscape

© John Betjeman

The three men coming down the winter hill
In brown, with tall poles and a pack of hounds
At heel, through the arrangement of the trees,
Past the five figures at the burning straw,

Witchcraft By A Picture

© John Donne

I fix mine eye on thine, and there
Pity my picture burning in thine eye;
My picture drowned in a transparent tear,
When I look lower I espy.

Woman's Constancy

© John Donne

Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
Tomorrow when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say?
Wilt thou then antedate some new made vow?
Or say that now

Water and Gold

© Michael Burch

You came to me as rain breaks on the desert
when every flower springs to life at once,
but joy is an illusion to the expert:
the Bedouin has learned how not to want.

Will There Be Starlight

© Michael Burch

Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?

Wei City Song

© Wang Wei

Wei City morning rain
dampens the light dust. By this inn, green,
newly green willows. I urge you to drink
another cup of wine; west of Yang Pass

What We Are

© William Bronk

What we are? We say we want to become
what we are or what we have an intent to be.
We read the possibilities, or try.
We get to some. We think we know how to read.

Without You

© Hermann Hesse

My Pillow gazes upon me at night
Empty as a gravestone;
I never thought it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Not to lie down asleep in your hair.

Work And Contemplation

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel
A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole;
She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,
Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel

Weep no more

© John Fletcher

WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.

Welcome to the Table

© William Cowper

This is the feast of heavenly wine,
And God invites to sup;
The juices of the living Vine
Were press'd to fill the cup.

Welcome Cross

© William Cowper

'Tis my happiness below
Not to live without the cross,
But the Saviour's power to know,
Sanctifying every loss;

Walking With God

Oh! for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame;
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!

Wisdom

(Proverbs, viii. 22-31)"Ere God had built the mountains,
Or raised the fruitful hills;
Before he fill'd the fountains
That feed the running rills;

Whilst it is prime

FRESH Spring, the herald of loves mighty king,
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd--