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      學(xué)習(xí)啦 > 學(xué)習(xí)英語 > 英語閱讀 > 英語詩歌 > 關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩欣賞

      關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩欣賞

      時(shí)間: 韋彥867 分享

      關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩欣賞

        詩歌是一種典型的文學(xué)形式,它既屬于文學(xué),又是一種藝術(shù)。古今中外,對(duì)于詩歌的研究從未間斷,我們?cè)谘芯康倪^程中發(fā)現(xiàn)詩歌的美,同時(shí)又在前人研究的基礎(chǔ)上創(chuàng)造出更好的詩歌作品。小編精心收集了關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩,供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!

        關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩篇1

        Counting What the Cactus Contains

        by Pattiann Rogers

        Elf owl, cactus wren, fruit flies incubating

        In the only womb they'll ever recognize.

        Shadow for the sand rat, spines

        And barbary ribs clenched with green wax.

        Seven thousand thorns, each a water slide,

        A wooden tongue licking the air dry.

        Inside, early morning mist captured intact,

        The taste of drizzle sucked

        And sunsplit. Whistle

        Of the red-tailed hawk at midnight, rush

        Of the leaf-nosed bat, the soft slip

        Of fog easing through sand held in tandem.

        Counting, the vertigo of its attitudes

        Across the evening; in the wood of its latticed bones——

        The eye sockets of every saint of thirst;

        In the gullet of each night-blooming flower——the crucifix

        Of the arid.

        In its core, a monastery of cells, a brotherhood

        Of electrons, a column of expanding darkness

        Where matter migrates and sparks whorl,

        And travel has no direction, where distance

        Bends backward over itself and the ascension

        Of Venus, the stability of Polaris, are crucial.

        The cactus, containing

        Whatever can be said to be there,

        Plus the measurable tremble of its association

        With all those who have been counting.

        關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩篇2

        This is a Wonderful Poem

        by David Wagoner

        Come at it carefully, don't trust it, that isn't its right name,

        It's wearing stolen rags, it's never been washed, its breath

        Would look moss-green if it were really breathing,

        It won't get out of the way, it stares at you

        Out of eyes burnt gray as the sidewalk,

        Its skin is overcast with colorless dirt,

        It has no distinguishing marks, no I.D. cards,

        It wants something of yours but hasn't decided

        Whether to ask for it or just take it,

        There are no policemen, no friendly neighbors,

        No peacekeeping busybodies to yell for, only this

        Thing standing between you and the place you were headed,

        You have about thirty seconds to get past it, around it,

        Or simply to back away and try to forget it,

        It won't take no for an answer: try hitting it first

        And you'll learn what's trembling in its torn pocket.

        Now, what do you want to do about it?

        關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩篇3

        This Living Hand

        by John Keats

        This living hand, now warm and capable

        Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold

        And in the icy silence of the tomb,

        So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

        That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood

        So in my veins red life might stream again,

        And thou be conscience-calmed——see here it is

        I hold it towards you.

        關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩篇4

        This Morning

        by Charles Simic

        Enter without knocking, hard-working ant.

        I'm just sitting here mulling over

        What to do this dark, overcast day?

        It was a night of the radio turned down low,

        Fitful sleep, vague, troubling dreams.

        I woke up lovesick and confused.

        I thought I heard Estella in the garden singing

        And some bird answering her,

        But it was the rain. Dark tree tops swaying

        And whispering. "Come to me my desire,"

        I said. And she came to me by and by,

        Her breath smelling of mint, her tongue

        Wetting my cheek, and then she vanished.

        Slowly day came, a gray streak of daylight

        To bathe my hands and face in.

        Hours passed, and then you crawled

        Under the door, and stopped before me.

        You visit the same tailors the mourners do,

        Mr. Ant. I like the silence between us,

        The quiet——that holy state even the rain

        Knows about. Listen to her begin to fall,

        As if with eyes closed,

        Muting each drop in her wild-beating heart.

        關(guān)于簡單易讀的英文詩篇5

        Country Fair

        by Charles Simic

        If you didn't see the six-legged dog,

        It doesn't matter.

        We did, and he mostly lay in the corner.

        As for the extra legs,

        One got used to them quickly

        And thought of other things.

        Like, what a cold, dark night

        To be out at the fair.

        Then the keeper threw a stick

        And the dog went after it

        On four legs, the other two flapping behind,

        Which made one girl shriek with laughter.

        She was drunk and so was the man

        Who kept kissing her neck.

        The dog got the stick and looked back at us.

        And that was the whole show.

        
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