Poems begining by W
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We Sate Down And Wept By The Waters
© George Gordon Byron
I.
We sate down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Worry About Money
© Kathleen Raine
And read that the widow with the young son
Must give first to the prophetic genius
From the little there is in the bin of flour and the cruse of oil.
Who shall deliver me?
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
God strengthen me to bear myself;
That heaviest weight of all to bear,
Inalienable weight of care.
Winter: My Secret
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,
And you're too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.
What Would I Give
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do!
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.
Who Has Seen the Wind?
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
When I am dead, my dearest
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Whisperings in Wattle-Boughs
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Oh, gaily sings the bird! and the wattle-boughs are stirr'd
And rustled by the scented breath of spring;
Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are thronging!
Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering!
When The `Army' Prays For Watty
© Henry Lawson
When the kindly hours of darkness, save for light of moon and star,
Hide the picture on the signboard over Doughty's Horse Bazaar;
When the last rose-tint is fading on the distant mulga scrub,
Then the Army prays for Watty at the entrance of his pub.
Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad?
© William Butler Yeats
Why should not old men be mad?
Some have known a likely lad
When the Children Come Home
© Henry Lawson
On a lonely selection far out in the West
An old woman works all the day without rest,
And she croons, as she toils 'neath the sky's glassy dome,
`Sure I'll keep the ould place till the childer come home.'
When Your Pants Begin to Go
© Henry Lawson
When you wear a cloudy collar and a shirt that isn't white,
And you cannot sleep for thinking how you'll reach to-morrow night,
You may be a man of sorrows, and on speaking terms with Care,
And as yet be unacquainted with the Demon of Despair;
For I rather think that nothing heaps the trouble on your mind
Like the knowledge that your trousers badly need a patch behind.
Wide Spaces
© Henry Lawson
When the man I was denounces all the things that I was not,
When the true souls stand like granite, while the souls of liars not
When the quids I gave are counted, and the trays I cadged forgot;
Waratah and Wattle
© Henry Lawson
Australia! Australia! so fair to behold-
While the blue sky is arching above;
The stranger should never have need to be told,
That the Wattle-bloom means that her heart is of gold.
And the Waratah's red with her love.
Wide Lies Australia
© Henry Lawson
Wide lies Australia! The seas that surround her
Flow for her unity all states in one.
Never has Custom nor Tyranny bound her
Never was conquest so peacefully won.
Weep Not, My Wanton
© Robert Greene
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Whatever Happened?
© Philip Larkin
At once whatever happened starts receding.
Panting, and back on board, we line the rail
With trousers ripped, light wallets, and lips bleeding.
Wants
© Philip Larkin
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone:
However the sky grows dark with invitation-cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flag-staff -
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone.
