woe (n.)
- abomination
- affliction
- agony
- anguish
- atrocity
- bad
- bale
- bane
- befoulment
- bitterness
- blight
- bugbear
- burden
- calamity
- care
- cataclysm
- catastrophe
- corruption
- cross
- crushing
- curse
- damage
- death
- defilement
- depression
- desolation
- despair
- despoliation
- destruction
- detriment
- disease
- distress
- dole
- encumbrance
- evil
- extremity
- gall
- grief
- grievance
- harm
- havoc
- heartache
- heartbreak
- hurt
- ill
- infection
- infelicity
- infliction
- injury
- lamentation
- load
- melancholia
- melancholy
- misadventure
- mischief
- misery
- nemesis
- oppression
- outrage
- pest
- pestilence
- pining
- plague
- poison
- pollution
- prostration
- regret
- rue
- sadness
- scourge
- sorrow
- thorn
- torment
- toxin
- tragedy
- trouble
- unhappiness
- venom
- vexation
- visitation
- weight
- wretchedness
- wrong
He who grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
So that no wonder waits him.
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
And moody madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.
But woe awaits a country when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Deeds, not words.
The heart bowed down by weight of woe
To weakest hope will cling.
Alas! by some degree of woe
We every bliss must gain;
The heart can ne'er a transport know
That never feels a pain.
Thus hand in hand through life we 'll go;
Its checker'd paths of joy and woe
With cautious steps we 'll tread.
Oh, when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow.
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own;
And every woe a tear can claim,
Except an erring sister's shame.
Let the world slide, let the world go;
A fig for care, and a fig for woe!
If I can't pay, why I can owe,
And death makes equal the high and low.
Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat,
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe
That all was lost.
Lord of himself,—that heritage of woe!
O, woe is me,
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
To labour is the lot of man below;
And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know
That life protracted is protracted woe.
Weep on! and as thy sorrows flow,
I 'll taste the luxury of woe.
I was not always a man of woe.
So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
Yet taught by time, my heart has learn'd to glow
For others' good, and melt at others' woe.
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances and the public show.
I was not always a man of woe.
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
We bear it calmly, though a ponderous woe,
And still adore the hand that gives the blow.
Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro
In all the raging impotence of woe.
Do not drop in for an after-loss.
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scap'd this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sabler tints of woe.
Silence in love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty:
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.
Thou hast been called, O sleep! the friend of woe;
But 't is the happy that have called thee so.
This world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,—
There's nothing true but Heaven.
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.
Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow,—
For thee, that ever felt another's woe!
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know
Which, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But turning, trembles too.
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
No words suffice the secret soul to show,
For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt.
