Poems begining by W
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Who Santy-Claus Wuz
© James Whitcomb Riley
Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still--
Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will.
Written In The Isle Of Thanet
© Robert Bloomfield
The bard, who paints from rural plains,
Must oft himself the void supply
Of damsels pure and artless swains,
Of innocence and industry:
Wanderers
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O there are wanderers over wave and strand
Invisible and secret, everywhere
Moving thro' light and night from land to land,
Swifter than bird or cloud upon the air.
When Coldness Wraps This Suffering Clay
© George Gordon Byron
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
When Friends Drop In
© Edgar Albert Guest
It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best
Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed,
And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng,
With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song,
But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin,
And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in.
When I Loved You
© Thomas Moore
When I loved you, I can't but allow
I had many an exquisite minute;
But the scorn that I feel for you now
Hath even more luxury in it!
Written In The Year 1779, When The Combined Fleets Were Off Plymouth
© Henry James Pye
When the keen axe remorseless laid
The woods of Edgecombe low,
Woone Smile Mwore
© William Barnes
O! MARY, when the zun went down,
Woone night in spring, w viry rim,
Behind the nap wi woody crown,
An left your smilen face so dim;
When Haizy Clouds Obscure The Night
© Thomas Parnell
When Haizy clouds obscure the night
No more the starrs afford us light
Winter Cares
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
"Of course, the fire consumes a lot of kindling wood,
When we warm up the house or cook a boiling pot.
Just think what kind of food we'd have to eat each day,
If there were no wood to burn and no helpful fire.
We'd have naught but sodden, sour swill to eat, like swine.
Weariness. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Second)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O little feet! that such long years
Must wander on through hopes and fears,
Must ache and bleed beneath your load;
I, nearer to the wayside inn
Where toil shall cease and rest begin,
Am weary, thinking of your road!
Which?
© Madison Julius Cawein
The wind was on the forest,
And silence on the wold;
And darkness on the waters,
And heaven was starry cold;
When Sleep, with mystic magic,
Bade me this thing behold:
Who Goes Home?
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
In the city set upon slime and loam
They cry in their parliament 'Who goes home?'
And there comes no answer in arch or dome,
For none in the city of graves goes home.
Yet these shall perish and understand,
For God has pity on this great land.
Whistle Ow'r The Lave O't
© Robert Burns
My mither sent me tae the moss
For to gaither peats and dross.
I cowpit the cairt and hanged the horse
An whistle ow'r the lave o't.
War
© Khalil Gibran
"O prince," said the weaver, "the decree is just. It is right that
one of my eyes be taken. And yet, alas! both are necessary to me
in order that I may see the two sides of the cloth that I weave.
But I have a neighbour, a cobbler, who has also two eyes, and in
his trade both eyes are not necessary."
We Are Many
© Pablo Neruda
Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.
Wasteland Of Solitude
© Faiz Ahmed Faiz
In the wasteland of solitude, my love, quiver
shadows of your voice, illusions of your lips.
In the wasteland of solitude, from the dusts of parting
Sprout jasmines and roses of your presence
