Poems begining by W
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Waggawocky
© Brooks Shirley
A parody on "Jabberwocky, the Chattertonian poem" in Mr. Lewis Carroll's fairy book "Alice through the Looking Glass."
We sat entwined an hour or two together
© Christopher John Brennan
We sat entwined an hour or two together(how long I know not) underneath pine-treesthat rustled ever in the soft spring weatherstirr'd by the sole suggestion of the breeze:
Where the Dead Men Lie
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Out on the wastes of the Never Never-- That's where the dead men lie!There where the heat-waves dance for ever-- That's where the dead men lie!That's where the Earth's loved sons are keepingEndless tryst: not the west wind sweepingFeverish pinions can wake their sleeping-- Out where the dead men lie!
Where brown Summer and Death have mated-- That's where the dead men lie!Loving with fiery lust unsated-- That's where the dead men lie!Out where the grinning skulls bleach whitelyUnder the saltbush sparkling brightly;Out where the wild dogs chorus nightly-- That's where the dead men lie!
Deep in the yellow, flowing river-- That's where the dead men lie!Under the banks where the shadows quiver-- That's where the dead men lie!Where the platypus twists and doubles,Leaving a train of tiny bubbles;Rid at last of their earthly troubles-- That's where the dead men lie!
East and backward pale faces turning-- That's how the dead men lie!Gaunt arms stretched with a voiceless yearning-- That's how the dead men lie!Oft in the fragrant hush of nooningHearing again their mothers' crooning,Wrapt for aye in a dreamful swooning-- That's how the dead men lie!
Only the hand of Night can free them-- That's when the dead men fly!Only the frightened cattle see them-- See the dead men go by!Cloven hoofs beating out one measure,Bidding the stockman know no leisure--That's when the dead men take their pleasure! That's when the dead men fly!
Ask, too, the never-sleeping drover: He sees the dead pass by;Hearing them call to their friends--the plover, Hearing the dead men cry;Seeing their faces stealing, stealing,Hearing their laughter pealing, pealing,Watching their grey forms wheeling, wheeling Round where the cattle lie!
Strangled by thirst and fierce privation-- That's how the dead men die!Out on Moneygrub's farthest station-- That's how the dead men die!Hardfaced greybeards, youngsters callow;Some mounds cared for, some left fallow;Some deep down, yet others shallow; Some having but the sky
Where is the soul to find
© Blodgett E. D.
Where is the soul to find its truest orientif not within the mind of cats, when they consent?
Written for my Son, and Spoken by Him in School, upon his Master's First Bringing in a Rod
© Mary Barber
OUR master, in a fatal hour,Brought in this Rod, to shew his pow'r
Written for my Son, and Spoken by Him at his First Putting on Breeches
© Mary Barber
WHAT is it our mamma's bewitches,To plague us little boys with breeches ?To tyrant Custom we must yield,Whilst vanquish'd Reason flies the field
Work While it is Day
© Askham John
"Work while it is yet day, for the night cometh on when no man can work."
Will He No Come Back Again?
© Anonymous
Royal Charlie's now awa, Safely owre the friendly main;Mony a heart will break in twa, Should he ne'er come back again
When the Ice Worms Nest Again
© Anonymous
There's a trusty husky maiden in the ArcticAnd she waits for me but it is not in vainFor some day I'll put my mukluks on and ask herIf she'll wed me when ice worms nest againIn the land of pale blue snow where it's ninety-nine belowAnd the polar bears are roaming o'er the plainIn the shadow of the Pole I will clasp her to my soulWe'll be married when the ice worms nest again
When Aurelia First I Courted
© Anonymous
When Aurelia first I courted,She had youth and beauty too,Killing pleasures when she sported,And her charms were ever new;Conquering time doth now deceive her,Which her glories did uphold,All her arts can ne'er retrieve her,Poor Aurelia's growing old
Whanne Ich Thenche Thinges Thre
© Anonymous
Wanne Ich thenche thinges threNe mai neure blithe be.That oon is Ich sal awe.That other is Ich ne wot wilk day.That thridde is mi meste kare:I ne woth nevre wuder I sal fare.
Western Wind, When will thou Blow?
© Anonymous
Western wind, when will thou blow?The small rain down can rain.Christ, if my love were in my arms,And I in my bed again!
Waly, Waly
© Anonymous
O Waly, waly, up the bank, O wary, waly, doun the brae,And waly, waly, yon burn-side, Where I and my love wer wont to gae!I lean'd my back unto an aik, I thocht it was a trustie tree,But first it bow'd and syne it brak',-- Sae my true love did lichtlie me
White Sand
© Anderson Robert Thompson
Blue waves lap on the long low shore, And the dark clouds cast their quivering shade;The dancing launch leaps lightly before The heaving swell that the wind hath made;And over the rushes bending green, Reaching outward across the strandWe look to the beach so white and clean
While I Wrote This a Battering Ram of Knives Excavated Old Wounds -- The Poem Attacking Stalin
© Aaron Rafi
There is something deep inside me, I don’t know whoplaced it there
Walking with Mandelstam
© Aaron Rafi
Once I thought that if I walked with you to the endof Russian literature, bumped into Yesenin and hissoft words, mingled with the throng that formedaround Pushkin or waited patiently at the SenateSquare while you threw pieces of Blok, Akhmatovaand poor old Mayakovsky to eager readers whopecked at your references, I would come tounderstand all that you represent
"When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam"
© William Cullen Bryant
When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam,
And the woodlands awaking burst into a hymn,
And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream,
How the bright ones of heaven in the brightness grow dim.
