Poems begining by W

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Winter In Summer

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

All in a bleak December

My heart had summer-time;

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Written At Florence

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

O WORLD, in very truth thou art too young;

When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age?

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What The Spider Heard

© Weldon Kees

Will there be time for eggnogs and eclogues
In the place where we’re going?
Said the spider to the fly.

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Written at Tunbridge--Wells

© Mary Barber

These Plains, so joyous once to me,
Now sadly chang'd appear:
Hortensia I no more can see,
Who patroniz'd me here.

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Wanderlieder

© John Hay

I stand at the break of day

In the Champs Elysees.

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Were I A Skilful Painter

© George MacDonald

Were I a skilful painter,

My pencil, not my pen,

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Woman Of Canaan

© John Newton

Prayer an answer will obtain,
Though the Lord awhile delay;
None shall seek his face in vain,
None be empty sent away.

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Weak Is The Will Of Man, His Judgement Blind

© William Wordsworth

'WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind;
'Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays;
'Heavy is woe;--and joy, for human-kind,
'A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!'

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William House and Family

© Julia A Moore

Come all kind friends, both far and near,
Come listen to me and you shall hear -
It's of a family and their fate,
All about them I will relate.

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Weeping Mary

© John Newton

Mary to her Saviour's tomb

Hasted at the early dawn;

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Winter the Season For the Exercise of Charity

© Eliza Cook

We know 'tis good that old Winter should come,
Roving awhile from his Lapland home;
'Tis fitting that we should hear the sound
Of his reindeer sledge on the slippery ground.

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Wasp

© Zbigniew Herbert

When the honey, fruit and flowery tablecloth were whisked from the table in one sweep, it flew of with a start. Entangled in the suffocating smoke of the curtains, it buzzed for a long time. At last it reached the window. It beat its weakening body repeatedly against the cold, solid air of the pane. In the last flutter of its wings drowsed the faith that the body’s unrest can awaken a wind carrying us to longed-for worlds.

  You who stood under the window of your beloved, who saw your happiness in a shop window—do you know how to take away the sting of this death?

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Who Fancied What A Pretty Sight

© William Wordsworth

WHO fancied what a pretty sight
This Rock would be if edged around
With living snow-drops? circlet bright!
How glorious to this orchard-ground!
Who loved the little Rock, and set
Upon its head this coronet?

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With every gust of wind

© Matsuo Basho

With every gust of wind,
the butterfly changes its place
on the willow.

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Wake The Serpent Not

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Wake the serpent not—lest he
Should not know the way to go,--
Let him crawl which yet lies sleeping
Through the deep grass of the meadow!

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When The Minister Calls

© Edgar Albert Guest

My Paw says that it used to be,

Whenever the minister came for tea,

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With A Water-Lily

© Henrik Johan Ibsen

SEE, dear, what thy lover brings;

'Tis the flower with the white wings.

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Wamberal

© Henry Kendall

Just a shell, to which the seaweed glittering yet with greenness clings,

Like the song that once I loved so, softly of the old time sings -

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Wilson

© John Greenleaf Whittier

The lowliest born of all the land,
He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand
The gifts which happier boyhood claims;
And, tasting on a thankless soil
The bitter bread of unpaid toil,
He fed his soul with noble aims.

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When Allah Spoke

© Arlo Bates

Was I not thine when Allah spoke the word

Which formed from smoke the sky?