Poems begining by W
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Wasps In A Garden
© Charles Lamb
The wall-trees are laden with fruit;
The grape, and the plum, and the pear,
The peach and the nectarine, to suit
Every taste, in abundance are there.
Written At TunbridgeWells, To The Right Honourable The Lady Barbara North
© Mary Barber
Faint--Fair, and act a Play.
In some few Hours we must repair,
To act, like Thespis, in the Fair:
And, as our Stage is of a Piece
We Were Pharaoh's Bondmen
© John Newton
Beneath the tyrant Satan's yoke
Our souls were long oppressed;
Till grace our galling fetters broke,
And gave the weary rest.
With Pipe And Flute
© Henry Austin Dobson
WITH pipe and flute the rustic Pan
Of old made music sweet for man;
Wireless.
© Alfred Noyes
Now to those who search the deep,
Gleam of Hope and Kindly Light,
Once, before you turn to sleep,
Breathe a message through the night.
Never doubt that they'll receive it.
Send it, once, and you'll believe it.
Winter
© William Morris
I am Winter, that do keep
Longing safe amidst of sleep:
Who shall say if I were dead
What should be remembered?
Where We Did Keep Our Flagon
© William Barnes
When we in mornèn had a-drow'd
The grass or russlèn haÿ abrode,
Whatever Is--Is Best
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I know as my life grows older,
And mine eyes have clearer sight,
White Nassau
© Bliss William Carman
She's ringed with surf and coral, she's crowned with sun and palm;
She has the old-world leisure, the regal tropic calm;
The trade winds fan her forehead; in everlasting June
She reigns from deep verandas above her blue lagoon.
Written Upon Loves Frontier-Post
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Toiling love, loose your pack,
All your sighs and tears unbind:
White Heliotrope
© Arthur Symons
The feverish room and that white bed,
The tumbled skirts upon a chair,
The novel flung half-open, where
Hat, hair-pins, puffs, and paints are spread;
Wood-Words
© Madison Julius Cawein
The spirits of the forest,
That to the winds give voice--
I lie the livelong April day
And wonder what it is they say
That makes the leaves rejoice.
Wollongong
© Henry Kendall
Let me talk of years evanished, let me harp upon the time
When we trod these sands together, in our boyhood's golden prime;
" When in the long--drawn avenues of Thought"
© Alfred Austin
When in the long-drawn avenues of Thought
I halt, and look before me and behind,
Written for my Son ... upon his Master's First Bringing in a Rod
© Mary Barber
That sage was surely more discerning,
Who taught to play us into learning,
By graving letters on the dice :
May heav'n reward the kind device,
And crown him with immortal fame,
Who taught at once to read and game !
What My Father Left Behind by Chris Forhan: American Life in Poetry #200 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laure
© Ted Kooser
Here's a fine poem by Chris Forhan of Indiana, about surviving the loss of a parent, and which celebrates the lives that survive it, that go on. I especially like the parachute floating up and away, just as the lost father has gone up and away.
What My Father Left Behind
Jam jar of cigarette ends and ashes on his workbench,
hammer he nailed our address to a stump with,
balsa wood steamship, half-finishedâ
Warbrides
© Nina Murdoch
There has been wrong done since the world began.
That young men should go out and die in war,
And lie face down in the dust for a brief span,
And be not good to look at anymore.
Wild Flowers Of Australia
© Caroline Carleton
Oh say not that no perfume dwells;
The wilding flowers among,
Say not that in the forest dells
Is heard no voice of song.
