Poems begining by W
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Waiting For Breakfast, While She Brushed Her Hair
© Philip Larkin
Waiting for breakfast, while she brushed her hair,
I looked down at the empty hotel yard
Wild Flowers
© George MacDonald
Content Primroses,
With hearts at rest in your thick leaves' soft care,
Wants
© Edith Wharton
WE women want too many things;
And first we call for happiness, -
The careless boon the hour brings,
The smile, the song, and the caress.
Where Lies The Land To Which Yon Ship Must Go?
© William Wordsworth
WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,
Festively she puts forth in trim array;
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
While The Musician Played
© James Whitcomb Riley
O it was but a dream I had
While the musician played!--
Where The Pelican Builds
© Mary Hannay Foott
The horses were ready,
The rails were down,
But the riders lingered still
One had a parting word to say
And one had his pipe to fill
What General Has A Good Army
© Walt Whitman
WHAT General has a good army in himself, has a good army;
He happy in himself, or she happy in herself, is happy,
But I tell you you cannot be happy by others, any more than you can
beget or conceive a child by others.
Wenn Ich, Beseligt
© Heinrich Heine
When Im made happy by lovely kisses,
Lying so sweetly in your arms prisons,
"When I Have Borne In Memory"
© William Wordsworth
WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
Welcome Home
© Robert Fuller Murray
The fire burns bright
And the hearth is clean swept,
As she likes it kept,
And the lamp is alight.
She is coming to-night.
Written in Milton's PARADISE LOST.
© Mather Byles
Had I, O had I all the tuneful Arts
Of lofty Verse; did ev'ry Muse inspire
When Sam'l Sings
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Hyeah dat singin' in de medders
Whaih de folks is mekin' hay?
War's Homecoming
© Edgar Albert Guest
We little thought how much they meant--the bleeding hearts of France,
And British mothers wearing black to mark some troop's advance,
The war was, O, so distant then, the grief so far away,
We couldn't see the weeping eyes, nor hear the women pray.
We couldn't sense the weight of woe that rested on that land,
But now our boy is called to go--to-day, we understand.
When You Meet A Man From Your Own Home Town
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Sing, O Muse, in treble clef,
A little song of the A.E.F.,
Waitin' Fer The Cat To Die
© James Whitcomb Riley
Lawzy! don't I rickollect
That-'air old swing in the lane!
When All Is Done
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
When all is done, and my last word is said,
And ye who loved me murmur, "He is dead,"
Let no one weep, for fear that I should know,
And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so.
Why Do I Love?
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Why do I love?
Is it for men to choose
The hour of the hushed night when crowned with dews
From its sea grave the morning star shall wake?
Written At Bath To A Young Lady
© Mary Barber
This I resolv'd; but still in vain--
We both must unreveng'd remain:
For I, alas! remember now,
I long ago had made a Vow,
That, should the Nine their Aid refuse,
Envy should never be my Muse.
