Poems begining by W
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Womans Love
© Frances Anne Kemble
A maiden meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes,
Full of eternal constancy and faith,
Winter
© Samuel Johnson
No more the morn with tepid rays
Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve distills the dew.
When Father Played Baseball
© Edgar Albert Guest
The smell of arnica is strong,
And mother's time is spent
Written In Germany On One Of The Coldest Days Of The Century
© William Wordsworth
A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse!
Let me have the song of the kettle;
And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse
That gallops away with such fury and force
On this dreary dull plate of black metal.
Winter Memories
© Henry David Thoreau
Within the circuit of this plodding life
There enter moments of an azure hue,
Without thisthere is nought
© Emily Dickinson
Without thisthere is nought
All other Riches be
As is the Twitter of a Bird
Heard opposite the Sea
We Needs Must Be Divided In The Tomb
© George Santayana
Let gallants lie beside their ladies' dust
In one cold grave, with mortal love inurned;
Let the sea part our ashes, if it must,
The souls fled thence which love immortal burned,
For they were wedded without bond of lust,
And nothing of our heart to earth returned.
Whos Dot Pulleteen?
© Henry Lawson
Let dose mountains fall and hide us
Gry benighded odersiders,
Shame come round and woe betide us,
Und our fellow men deride us
If we effer yet can find oud
Whos dot Western Pull-it-in?
What I Learned From My Mother by Julia Kasdorf: American Life in Poetry #60 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet La
© Ted Kooser
Most of us have taken at least a moment or two to reflect upon what we have learned from our mothers. Through a catalog of meaningful actions that range from spiritual to domestic, Pennsylvanian Julia Kasdorf evokes the imprint of her mother's life on her own. As the poem closes, the speaker invites us to learn these actions of compassion.
While I Listen to Thy Voice
© Edmund Waller
While I listen to thy voice,
Chloris, I feel my life decay;
That powerful noise
Calls my flitting soul away.
Oh! suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.
When Mother Combed My Hair
© James Whitcomb Riley
When Memory, with gentle hand,
Has led me to that foreign land
Wife
© Julian Tuwim
His eyes are misted. He takes one more dram.
He kneels down beside me and lays his head on my arm.
It is only then that I learn for the first time who I am.
Weary In Well-Doing
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I would have gone; God bade me stay:
I would have worked; God bade me rest.
He broke my will from day to day,
He read my yearnings unexpressed
And said them nay.
We Are Getting to the End
© Thomas Hardy
We are getting to the end of visioning
The impossible within this universe,
Such as that better whiles may follow worse,
And that our race may mend by reasoning.
Wood Magic
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
The woods lay dreaming in a topaz dream,
And we, who silently roamed hand in hand,
Were pilgrims in a strange, enchanted land,
Where life was love, and love was all a-gleam.
When Runnels Began To Leap And Sing
© Alfred Austin
When runnels began to leap and sing,
And daffodil sheaths to blow,
Written In The Nouveaux Interests Des Princes De L'Europe
© Matthew Prior
Bless'd be the princes who have fought
For pompous names or wide dominion,
Since by their error we are taught
That happiness is but opinion.
