Poems begining by W
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Winged Rock
© Robinson Jeffers
The flesh of the house is heavy sea-orphaned stone, the imagination
of the house
Where Thou artthatis Home
© Emily Dickinson
Where Thou artthatis Home
Cashmereor Calvarythe same
Degreeor Shame
I scarce esteem Location's Name
So I may Come
Will And I
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I.
WE roam the hills together,
In the golden summer weather,
Will and I:
White Sunshine
© Lesbia Harford
The sun's my fire.
Golden, from a magnificence of blue,
Should be its hue.
But woolly clouds,
White Rose
© Adelaide Crapsey
Not thou,
White rose, but thy
Ensanguined sister is
The dear companion of my heart's
Shed blood.
Welcome, Mighty Chief, Once More
© Louisa May Alcott
"Welcome, mighty chief, once more
Welcome to this grateful shore;
Now no mercenary foe
Aims again the fatal blow,--
Aims at thee the fatal blow.
Who
© Sri Aurobindo
In the blue of the sky, in the green of the forest,
Whose is the hand that has painted the glow?
When the winds were asleep in the womb of the ether,
Who was it roused them and bade them to blow?
We Have Created The Night
© Paul Eluard
We have created the night I hold your hand I watch
I sustain you with all my powers
When the Bear Comes Back Again
© Henry Lawson
Oh, the scene is wide an dreary an the sun is settin red,
An the grey-black sky of winters comin closer overhead.
Why
© Emily Dickinson
The Murmur of a Bee
A Witchcraftyieldeth me
If any ask me why
'Twere easier to die
Than tell
Wake
© Langston Hughes
Tell all my mourners
To mourn in red -
Cause there ain't no sense
In my bein' dead.
When A Lover Clasps His Fairest
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
When a lover clasps his fairest,
Then be our dread sport the rarest.
Their caresses were like the chaff
In the tempest, and be our laugh
His despairher epitaph!
"Why should I, from this long and losing strife "
© Alfred Austin
Why should I, from this long and losing strife
When summoned to depart, halt half-afraid?
Winter
© Czeslaw Milosz
The pungent smells of a California winter,
Grayness and rosiness, an almost transparent full moon.
I add logs to the fire, I drink and I ponder.
Within and Without: Part I: A Dramatic Poem
© George MacDonald
Robert.
Head in your hands as usual! You will fret
Your life out, sitting moping in the dark.
Come, it is supper-time.
