Poems begining by W
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Wildflowers And Hothouse-plants
© Henrik Johan Ibsen
"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!
What blindness to form and feature!
The girl's no beauty, and might be placed
As a hoydenish kind of creature."
War Profit Litany
© Allen Ginsberg
To Ezra PoundThese are the names of the companies that have made
money from this war
nineteenhundredsixtyeight Annodomini fourthousand
eighty Hebraic
Wild Orphan
© Allen Ginsberg
so lonely growing up among
the imaginary automobiles
and dead souls of Tarrytown
When the winter chrysanthemums go
© Matsuo Basho
When the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
but radishes.
What Do You Do About Dry Periods In Your Writing?
© Richard Jones
When the writing is going well,
I am a prince in a desert palace,
fountains flowing in the garden.
I lean an elbow on a velvet pillow
When Helen Lived
© William Butler Yeats
We have cried in our despair
That men desert,
For some trivial affair
Or noisy, insolent sport,
Words
© William Butler Yeats
I had this thought a while ago,
'My darling cannot understand
What I have done, or what would do
In this blind bitter land.'
Wisdom
© Dorothy Parker
This I say, and this I know:
Love has seen the last of me.
Love's a trodden lane to woe,
Love's a path to misery.
Walter Savage Landor
© Dorothy Parker
Upon the work of Walter Landor
I am unfit to write with candor.
If you can read it, well and good;
But as for me, I never could.
Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End?
© Mary Oliver
Don't call this world adorable, or useful, that's not it.
It's frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.
The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.
The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.
Walking To Oak-Head Pond, And Thinking Of The Ponds I Will Visit In The Next Days And Weeks
© Mary Oliver
What is so utterly invisible
as tomorrow?
Not love,
not the wind,
Why I Wake Early
© Mary Oliver
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
Wild Geese
© Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
When Death Comes
© Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
Work
© Henry Van Dyke
Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best.
Wordsworth
© Henry Van Dyke
But thou in youth hast known the breaking stress
Of passion, and hast trod despair's dry ground
Beneath black thoughts that wither and destroy.
Ah, wanderer, led by human tenderness
Home to the heart of Nature, thou hast found
The hidden Fountain of Recovered Joy.
