關(guān)于大學(xué)生英文詩歌精選
關(guān)于大學(xué)生英文詩歌精選
通過英語詩歌學(xué)英語,改變大學(xué)英語教學(xué)內(nèi)容與詩歌學(xué)習(xí)無緣的狀態(tài),是和提高學(xué)生英語學(xué)習(xí)積極性、增強大學(xué)英語教學(xué)效果、提高學(xué)生英語交際能力的目的相輔相成。小編精心收集了關(guān)于大學(xué)生英文詩歌，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
關(guān)于大學(xué)生英文詩歌篇1
The Teacher
by Hilarie Jones
I was twenty-six the first time I held
a human heart in my hand.
It was sixty-four and heavier than I expected，
its chambers slack;
and I was stupidly surprised
at how cold it was.
It was the middle of the third week
before I could look at her face，
before I could spend more than an hour
learning the secrets of cirrhosis，
the dark truth of diabetes， the black lungs
of the Marlboro woman， the exquisite
painful shape of kidney stones，
without eating an entire box of Altoids
to smother the smell of formaldehyde.
After seeing her face， I could not help
but wonder if she had a favorite color;
if she hated beets，
or loved country music before her hearing
faded， or learned to read
before cataracts placed her in perpetual twilight.
I wondered if her mother had once been happy
when she'd come home from school
or if she'd ever had a valentine from a secret admirer.
In the weeks that followed， I would
drive the highways， scanning billboards.
I would see her face， her eyes
squinting away the cigarette smoke，
or she would turn up at the bus stop
pushing a grocery cart of empty
beer cans and soda bottles. I wondered
if that was how she'd paid for all those smokes
or if the scars of repeated infections in her womb
spoke to a more universal currency.
Did she die， I wondered， in a cardboard box
under the Burnside Bridge， nursing a bottle
of strawberry wine， telling herself
she felt a little warmer now，
or in the Good Faith Shelter，
her few belongings safe under the sheet
held to her faltering heart?
Or in the emergency room， lying
on a wheeled gurney， the pitiless
lights above， the gauzy curtains around?
Did she ever wonder what it all was for?
I wish I could have told her in those days
what I've now come to know： that
it was for this——the baring
of her body on the stainless steel table——
that I might come to know its secrets
and， knowing them， might listen
to the machine-shop hum of aortic stenosis
in an old woman's chest， smile a little to myself
and， in gratitude to her who taught me，
put away my stethoscope， turn to my patient
and say Let's talk about your heart.
關(guān)于大學(xué)生英文詩歌篇2
The Three Times
by Alfred Corn
The first will no doubt begin with morning's
Stainless-steel manners and possibilities
Out of number. Sunlight scold too much?
So a tense gets thinned out with solvents，
Preternaturally bright with the will
To swap laziness or pleasure for paper money.
The future may appear as a winter day， colors
Of the facades like frozen jellies and sherbets，
Palaces of frost in crystalline order;
Then fall into shards at the approach of fact，
A needle of starlight aimed at your heart.
This one has all the force and danger of
Randomness： image drips into daydream
As waters gather to sea level and go
With the tide. Clouds. Chain lightning.
The waves move in like destroyers. And-
And only subside when， for example，
I stop to prove a cup off-center
In its saucer. A door closes， footsteps;
The night outside warm and silent
As an underground parking lot; askew stacks
Of books and papers; raw material;
Clues to a life. Because it's the time
Of pain-always the same-and pleasures：
Taste， touch， work， walking， music-not one
Of these trivial and all incomplete.
The last was always a famous storehouse;
Or you sit down before an amphittheater
Of tiered keyboards， repertory of stops;
To choose diapason. bourdon， vox humana-
A stone wall， the shadow of a leaf，
The gate I saw and then the grass
Running in place before the wind.
The place of the mind moved on， just
Failing to be everywhere at once;
And reconstructed an autumn afternoon
From the highest window， when the buildings
Forcing up against an imposed sky，
Fused into background， embraced the park，
Rested. The last baseball players
Swarmed around a tiny diamond template;
Man and his games a perfected miniature-
Like the past you almost don't believe in.
Yet it's there， behind perhaps a blue veil;
Sturdy; calm; unless put out of countenance
By drab standards of exactitude.
The last word was never， was always
About to be written; so that none of us
Could know whether hope， become action，
Exposed to the elements-a bronze monument，
Negligible among the surrounding towers，
But somehow truly central-would corrode，
Crumble， dissolve; or weather into
A fact of nature， continue to be
關(guān)于大學(xué)生英文詩歌篇3
The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The tide rises， the tide falls，
The twilight darkens， the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town，
And the tide rises， the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls，
But the sea， the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves， with their soft， white hands，
Efface the footprints in the sands，
And the tide rises， the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh， as the hostler calls;
The day returns， but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore，
And the tide rises， the tide falls.
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