Poems begining by W
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Winter Clouds
© Mao Zedong
Winter clouds snow-laden, cotton fluff flying,
None or few the unfallen flowers.
Winter
© Madison Julius Cawein
The flute, whence Autumn's misty finger-tips
Drew music--ripening the pinched kernels in
When a Merry Maiden Marries
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Written For My Son To His Master, On The Anniversary Of The Battle Of The Boyne.
© Mary Barber
Is what we owe great William then
Forgotten by ungrateful Men?
And has His Fame run out its Date,
Who snatch'd us from the Brink of Fate?
Where do you search me
© Kabir
Moko Kahan Dhundhere Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein
Na Teerath Mein, Na Moorat Mein
Na Ekant Niwas Mein
Worn Out
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
Thy strong arms are around me, love
My head is on thy breast;
Low words of comfort come from thee
Yet my soul has no rest.
Waltz
© Pablo Neruda
I touch hatred like a covered breast;
I without stopping go from garment to garment,
sleeping at a distance.
War
© John Le Gay Brereton
Silence the crackle and thunder of battling guns,
And drive your men to strategy of peace;
Crush ere its birth the hell-begotten crime;
Still theres a war that no true warrior shuns,
That knows no mercy, looks for no surcease,
But ghastlier battles, victories more sublime.
With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh
© William Wordsworth
With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
With A Pressed Flower
© James Russell Lowell
This little blossom from afar
Hath come from other lands to thine;
For, once, its white and drooping star
Could see its shadow in the Rhine.
When It's Bad To Forget
© Edgar Albert Guest
DID you ever meet a brother as you hurried on your way
And invite him up to dinner, and his wife;
Winter Sunset
© Katharine Tynan
Roses in the sky,
Roses in the sea
Bowers of scarlet sky-roses
Take my heart and me.
Western Wagons
© Stephen Vincent Benet
They went with axe and rifle, when the trail was still to blaze,
They went with wife and children, in the prairie-schooner days,
With banjo and with frying panSusanna, don't you cry!
For I'm off to California to get rich out there or die!
Where Will I Find Words
© Mikhail Alekseevich Kuzmin
Where will I find words to describe our stroll,
The Chablis on ice, the toasted bread
And the sweet agate of ripe cherries?
Sunset is far off, and the sea resounds with
The splash of bodies, hot and glad for cool dampness.
Written In A Quarrel
© William Cowper
Think, Delia, with what cruel haste
Our fleeting pleasures move,
Nor heedless in sorrow waste
The moments due to love;
With Head Erect I Fought The Fight
© John Philip Bourke
And so we write as Nature sets her gauge
No worse than most, and better, p'raps, than some;
But should a man remain for ever dumb
When only rhyming fills his aimless page?
What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds
© John Keats
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.
