Poems begining by W

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when what hugs stopping earth than silent is... (16)

© Edward Estlin Cummings

when what hugs stopping earth than silent is
more silent than more than much more is or
total sun oceaning than any this
tear jumping from each most least eye of star

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Walking Across The Atlantic

© Billy Collins

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

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With The Face

© Laura Riding Jackson

With the face goes a mirror
As with the mind a world.
Likeness tells the doubting eye
That strangeness is not strange.

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When Malindy Sings

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy--
Put dat music book away;
What's de use to keep on tryin'?
Ef you practise twell you're gray,

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Weekend Glory

© Maya Angelou

Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.

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Woman Work

© Maya Angelou

Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.

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What Place is Besieged?

© Walt Whitman

WHAT place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?
Lo! I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal;
And with him horse and foot—and parks of artillery,
And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.

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What think You I take my Pen in Hand?

© Walt Whitman

WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?
The battle-ship, perfect-model’d, majestic, that I saw pass the offing to-day under full
sail?

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World Below the Brine, The.

© Walt Whitman

THE world below the brine;
Forests at the bottom of the sea—the branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds—the thick tangle, the openings,
and

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Warble for Lilac-Time.

© Walt Whitman

WARBLE me now, for joy of Lilac-time,
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature’s sake, and sweet life’s sake—and
death’s the same as life’s,
Souvenirs of earliest summer—birds’ eggs, and the first berries;

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Who is now Reading This?

© Walt Whitman

WHO is now reading this?
May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past life,
Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly loved me,
Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with derision,

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World, Take Good Notice.

© Walt Whitman

WORLD, take good notice, silver stars fading,
Milky hue ript, weft of white detaching,
Coals thirty-eight, baleful and burning,
Scarlet, significant, hands off warning,
Now and henceforth flaunt from these shores. 5

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We Two—How Long We were Fool’d.

© Walt Whitman

WE two—how long we were fool’d!
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes;
We are Nature—long have we been absent, but now we return;
We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark;

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Weave in, Weave in, My Hardy Life.

© Walt Whitman

WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave! tire not!

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Walt Whitman’s Caution.

© Walt Whitman

TO The States, or any one of them, or any city of The States, Resist much, obey
little;
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved;
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth, ever afterward resumes its
liberty.

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What am I, After All?

© Walt Whitman

WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own name? repeating
it
over and over;
I stand apart to hear—it never tires me.

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When I read the Book.

© Walt Whitman

WHEN I read the book, the biography famous,
And is this, then, (said I,) what the author calls a man’s life?
And so will some one, when I am dead and gone, write my life?
(As if any man really knew aught of my life;

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Whispers of Heavenly Death.

© Walt Whitman

WHISPERS of heavenly death, murmur’d I hear;
Labial gossip of night—sibilant chorals;
Footsteps gently ascending—mystical breezes, wafted soft and low;
Ripples of unseen rivers—tides of a current, flowing, forever flowing;

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When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d.

© Walt Whitman

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WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

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Walt Whitman.

© Walt Whitman

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I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.