Poems, by first line
Poems, by title
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
We are they who come faster than fate: we are they who ride early or late
We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest
We, that did nothing study but the way
We that were friends to-night have found
We watch'd her breathing thro' the night
Weave the warp, and weave the woof
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee
Weep with me, all you that read
Welcome, maids of honour!
Welcome, welcome! do I sing
Well then! I now do plainly see
Were I as base as is the lowly plain
What beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade
What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
What conscience, say, is it in thee
What have I done for you
What is this life if, full of care
What is your substance, whereof are you made
What needs complaints
What nymph should I admire or trust
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
What should I say?
What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see
What was he doing, the great god Pan
When all my gentle friends had gone
When by Zeus relenting the mandate was revoked
When daisies pied and violets blue
When, dearest, I but think of thee
When Death to either shall come
When fishes flew and forests walked
When God at first made Man
When I am dead, my dearest
When I consider how my light is spent
When I had money, money, O!
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When I have fears that I may cease to be
When icicles hang by the wall
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time
When Love with unconfined wings
When lovely lovely woman stoops to folly
When my love was away
When our two souls stand up erect and strong
When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces
When the lamp is shatter'd
When thou must home to shades of underground
When thou, poor Excommunicate
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
When you have wearied of the valiant spires of this County Town
When we two parted
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
Where, like a pillow on a bed
Where the bee sucks, there suck I
Where the remote Bermudas ride
Whether on Ida's shady brow
While I translated Baudelaire
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Who hath his fancy pleased
Who is it that, this dark night
Who is Silvia? What is she?
Whoe'er she be
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind
Why art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
Why, having won her, do I woo?
Why I tie about thy wrist
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Why, why repine, my pensive friend
Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun
With all my will, but much against my heart
With blackest moss the flower-plots
With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies!
With margerain gentle
Worschippe ye that loveris bene this May
Wouldst thou hear what Man can say
Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart
. Poems .
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