Poems begining by W

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When Winter Comes

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

RAIN at Muchalat, rain at Sooke,

And rain, they say, from Yale to Skeena,

Why I Loved You

© Thomas Moore

The world has just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not, as I used to feel,
And life grew dark and love was gone.

Without A Title

© Boris Pasternak

So aloof, so meek in your ways,
Now you're fire, you're pure combustion.
Only let me lock up your beauty
Deep, deep down in a poem's dungeon.

Who Ever Loved That Loved Not At First Sight?

© Christopher Marlowe

from Hero and Leander

It lies not in our power to love, or hate,

We met as strangers on life's lonely way,
And yet it seemed we knew each other well;
There was no end to what thou hadst to say,
Or to the thousand things I found to tell.
My heart, long silent, at thy voice that day
Chimed in my breast like to a silver bell.

What People May Think

© Piet Hein

Some people cower

and wince and shrink,

When, Dearest, I But Think On Thee

© Owen Felltham

When, dearest, I but think on thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted:
For beauties that from worth arise
Are like the grace of deities,
Still present with us, though unsighted.

With A Copy Of Aucassin And Nicolete

© James Russell Lowell

Leaves fit to have been poor Juliet's cradle-rhyme,

With gladness of a heart long quenched in mould

Women.

© Robert Crawford

Alas! we women are the fools of you:
You mould us and you mar us we are yours,
And ever have been since the birth of love,
Flowers cherished for a while, soon to be cast
As weeds away; and yet as weeds in the mire
Our fading hues breathe to the last of you.

Wherefore?

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Wherefore in dreams are sorrows borne anew,
A healed wound opened, or the past revived?
Last night in my deep sleep I dreamed of you;
Again the old love woke in me, and thrived

Welcome Home

© Thomas Hardy

To my native place
Bent upon returning,
Bosom all day burning
To be where my race
Well were known, 'twas much with me
There to dwell in amity.

When The Dark Comes

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

When the dark comes,

"Is this the end?" I pray;

Work.

© Robert Crawford

For thyself work, not for another, so
'Tis possible; else all thy worth is his
Whose maybe paltry payment scarce serves to
The base sufficing of thy bed and board:

What The Chimney Sang

Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
"I hate the wind in the chimney."