Poems begining by W
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Written Before Re-Reading King Lear
© John Keats
O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away!
Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute.
Written On The Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison
© John Keats
What though, for showing truth to flattered state,
Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he,
In his immortal spirit, been as free
As the sky-searching lark, and as elate.
Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid?
© John Keats
Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there i' the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
Written On A Summer Evening
© John Keats
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Why Did I Laugh Tonight? No Voice Will Tell
© John Keats
Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.
Then to my human heart I turn at once.
When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
© John Keats
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
Where Giant Mushrooms Grow!
© John Matthew
In Nevada there is a field where giant mushrooms grow
One mile high and two miles wide, they say on the show
Thats where they test how to vaporize people and flesh
By splitting and fusing atoms and start the world afresh.
Worlds
© Richard Wilbur
For Alexander there was no Far East,
Because he thought the Asian continent
India ended. Free Cathay at least
Did not contribute to his discontent.
Wedding Toast
© Richard Wilbur
St. John tells how, at Cana's wedding feast,
The water-pots poured wine in such amount
That by his sober count
There were a hundred gallons at the least.
Winds of May
© James Joyce
Winds of May, that dance on the sea,
Dancing a ring-around in glee
From furrow to furrow, while overhead
The foam flies up to be garlanded,
Who Goes Amid the Green Wood
© James Joyce
Who goes amid the green wood
With springtide all adorning her?
Who goes amid the merry green wood
To make it merrier?
When the Shy Star Goes Forth in Heaven
© James Joyce
When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.
What Counsel Has the Hooded Moon
© James Joyce
What counsel has the hooded moon
Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet,
Of Love in ancient plenilune,
Glory and stars beneath his feet -- -
A sage that is but kith and kin
With the comedian Capuchin?
Watching the Needleboats at San Sabba
© James Joyce
I heard their young hearts crying
Loveward above the glancing oar
And heard the prairie grasses sighing:
No more, return no more!
With Tears They Buried You Today
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
With tears they buried you to-day,
But well I knew no turf could hold
Your gladness long beneath the mould,
Or cramp your laughter in the clay;
I smiled while others wept for you
Because I knew.
While the Fates Sleep
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Come, let us to the sunways of the west,
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill,
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest
O'er whispering wold and hill.
When the Fishing Boats Go Out
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,
And o'er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.
There's joyance and there's freedom when the fishing boats go out.
When the Dark Comes Down
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea
With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef's threnody,
The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar
With many a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar.
So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown,
For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down.
Waiting For The Miracle
© Leonard Cohen
(co-written by Sharon Robinson)
Baby, I've been waiting,
I've been waiting night and day.
I didn't see the time,
Want
© Robert Herrick
Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon,
This, that, and every base impression,
