Poems begining by W
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Wordsworth
© James Kenneth Stephen
Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now birdlike pipes, now closes soft in sleep;
When Will It End?
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
O when will it end, this appalling strife,
With its reckless waste of human life,
Its riving of highest, holiest ties,
Its tears of anguish and harrowing sighs,
Its ruined homes from which hope has fled,
Its broken hearts and its countless dead?
Who Would Have Thought?
© George MacDonald
Blow, breath of heaven, on all this poison blow!
And, heart, glow upward to this gracious breath!
Between them, vanish, mist of sin and death,
And let the life of life within me flow!
Love is the green earth, the celestial air,
And music runs like dews and rivers there!
When The Hearse Comes Back
© James Whitcomb Riley
A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet
Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street:
Wake now, my Soul, and humbly hear
© John Austin
Wake now, my Soul, and humbly hear
What thy mild Lord commands:
When I Consider How My Light Is Spent
© John Milton
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
Who Lights The Fire?
© George MacDonald
Who lights the fire-that forth so gracefully
And freely frolicketh the fairy smoke?
Some pretty one who never felt the yoke-
Glad girl, or maiden more sedate than she.
What The Hyena Said
© Vachel Lindsay
The moon is but a golden skull,
She mounts the heavens now,
And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms
Are wreathed around her brow.
What Shall I Render
© John Newton
For mercies, countless as the sands,
Which daily I receive
From Jesus, my Redeemer's hands,
My soul what canst thou give?
Who Hath Ears To Hear Let Him Hear
© Jones Very
The sun doth not the hidden place reveal,
Whence pours at morn his golden flood of light;
We May Not Climb the Heavenly Steeps
© John Greenleaf Whittier
We may not climb the heavenly steeps
To bring the Lord Christ down;
In vain we search the lowest deeps
For Him who fills Heaven's throne.
Written In Richmond
© John Kenyon
Thames swept along in summer pride,
Sparkling beneath his verdant edge;
When There's Health In The House
© Edgar Albert Guest
When there's good health In the house, there is laughter everywhere,
And the skies are bright and sunny and the roads are smooth and fair,
For the mother croons her ditties, and the father hums a song.
Although heavy be his burdens, he can carry them along.
Waking from Drunken Sleep on a Spring Day.
© Li Po
Life is a dream. No need to stir.
Remembering this Im drunk all day.
Walter And Jane: Or, The Poor Blacksmith
© Robert Bloomfield
'We brav'd Life's storm together; while that Drone,
'Your poor old Uncle, WALTER, liv'd alone.
'He died the other day: when round his bed
'No tender soothing tear Affection shed--
'Affection! 'twas a plant he never knew;--
'Why should he feast on fruits he never grew?'
Wentworth
© Mary Hannay Foott
Tis a proud thing for Australia, while the funeral-prayers are said,
To remember loving service, frankly rendered by the dead;
How he strove, amid the nations, evermore to raise her head.
How in youth he sang her glory, as it is, and is to be,
Called her Empress,while they held her yet as base-born, over sea,
Owned her Mother,when her children scarce were counted with the free!
What shall we do?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Here now forevermore our lives must part.
My path leads there, and yours another way.
What shall we do with this fond love, dear heart?
It grows a heavier burden day by day.
Washington
© Harriet Monroe
Oh, hero of our younger race!
Great builder of a temple new!
Ruler, who sought no lordly place!
Warrior who sheathed the sword he drew!
What of the Night
© John Le Gay Brereton
Ah, but the ponderous horror! Nay, not yet
The cloud of sorrow leeward growls and rolls;
The eyes that meet the morn are heavy and wet.
The loss the military mind enscrolls,
Spilt blood and battered bones, we may forget,
But not the wastage of beloved souls.
