Poems begining by W
/ page 47 of 113 /
Winter
© William Shakespeare
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought (Sonnet 30)
© William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
When that I was and a little tiny boy
© William Shakespeare
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
Wo jo ham main tum main qarar Tha
© Momin Khan Momin
wo naye gile wo shikayaten wo maze maze ki hikayaten
wo har ek bat pe ruthna tumhen yad ho k na yad ho
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes (Sonnet 29)
© William Shakespeare
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wordsworth
© Charles Harpur
With what a plenitude of pure delight
He triumphs on the mountains cloudy height,
With what a gleeful harmony of joy
He wanders down the vale as happy as a boy!
Worthy Art Thou, Returning Home
© Walther von der Vogelweide
Worthy art thou, returning home, the bell
For thee should ring, and crowds come gathering round
With Esther
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
HE who has once been happy is for aye
Out of destruction's reach. His fortune then
White Night
© Boris Pasternak
I keep thinking of times that are long past,
Of a house in the Petersburg Quarter.
You had come from the steppeland Kursk Province,
Of a none-too-rich mother the daughter.
White Pansies
© Archibald Lampman
Day and night pass over, rounding,
Star and cloud and sun,
Things of drift and shadow, empty
Of my dearest one.
When You Wake In Your Crib
© William Ernest Henley
When you wake in your crib,
You, an inch of experience -
Wayward Wind
© Belinda Subraman
My patient, Paul, wrote in a poem
that he belongs to the wayward wind,
a restless breed,
a strange and hardy class.
Why The Daisies Are Not All White
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Uncle Rob says:
Once the daisies all were white,
Till a baby fellow
Ate his supper down one night,
And stained his face all yellow.
Witch Burning
© Sylvia Plath
In the marketplace they are piling the dry sticks.
A thicket of shadows is a poor coat. I inhabit
The wax image of myself, a doll's body.
Sickness begins here: I am the dartboard for witches.
Only the devil can eat the devil out.
In the month of red leaves I climb to a bed of fire.
woman
© Rg Gregory
you have gone away from yourself
you walk in a dead way
your loins have lost their sweets
your breasts deny touch
your face exudes cold pain
Written For My Son, To Some Of The Fellows Of The College,
© Mary Barber
We of late had a terrible Rout in our House;
If I happen'd to speak, I was sure of a Souse.
My Mamma had the Tooth--ach, and I felt the Smart--
O Steel, I for ever will yalue thy Art:
