Poems begining by W
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Window Shopper
© Robert William Service
I stood before a candy shop
Which with a Christmas radiance shone;
I saw my parents pass and stop
To grin at me and then go on.
White Christmas
© Robert William Service
My folks think I'm a serving maid
Each time I visit home;
They do not dream I ply a trade
As old as Greece or Rome;
Why Do Birds Sing?
© Robert William Service
What ecstasy moves them to sing?
Is it the lyric glee of Spring,
The dewy rapture of the rose?
Is it the worship born in those
Who are of Nature's self a part,
The adoration of the heart?
Work And Joy
© Robert William Service
Each day I live I thank the Lord
I do the work I love;
And in it find a rich reward,
All price and praise above.
Wrestling Match
© Robert William Service
What guts he had, the Dago lad
Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile;
For nigh an hour they milled like mad,
And mauled the mat in rare old style.
Winter Remembered
© John Crowe Ransom
Two evils, monstrous either one apart,
Possessed me, and were long and loath at going:
A cry of Absence, Absence, in the heart,
And in the wood the furious winter blowing.
Weeping
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Weeping,
I go down the street
Grotesque, without solution
With the sadness of Cyrano
And Quixote.
When Day Is Done
© Rabindranath Tagore
If the day is done,
if birds sing no more,
if the wind has flagged tired,
then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me,
even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep
and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.
When and Why
© Rabindranath Tagore
When I bring you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there
is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are
painted in tints-when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
When I sing to make you dance, I truly know why there is music
We Are Going
© Oodgeroo Noonuccal
They came in to the little town
A semi-naked band subdued and silent
All that remained of their tribe.
They came here to the place of their old bora ground
Witness
© Eavan Boland
Here is the city
its worn-down mountains,
its grass and iron,
its smoky coast
seen from the high roads
on the Wicklow side.
Winter Nightfall
© Robert Seymour Bridges
The day begins to droop,--
Its course is done:
But nothing tells the place
Of the setting sun.
While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry
© Robert Seymour Bridges
While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry
And blackening east that so embitters March,
Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch,
And driven dust and withering snowflake fly;
When Death to Either shall come
© Robert Seymour Bridges
When Death to either shall come,
I pray it be first to me,
Be happy as ever at home,
If so, as I wish, it be.
West Riding
© Ian Emberson
Bright sari in a darkened street
the lilting grey of Yorkshire sky;
rust requiems for demolished mills
repeating grooves of curlews cry.
When it was autumn in Eden
© Ian Emberson
When it was autumn in Eden
and chestnuts held golden leaves
against dimming light ,
Eve touched her toes on the sodden
Where edges are
© Chris Mansell
She is effulgent in the dark halls of town.
She is listening but they are hearing.
Her skin is blistering and sharp with sparks.
Welcome Here
© Liam Wilkinson
Hear of the hate I have for these poems
as they arrive, out of the night
wanting the small bowls of my appreciation
as I put out a sheet of paper
and let them piss all over the place.
When the Assault Was Intended to the City
© John Milton
Captain, or colonel, or knight in arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms.
When The Lamp Is Shattered
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead --
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed.
