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      學(xué)習(xí)啦>學(xué)習(xí)英語(yǔ)>英語(yǔ)閱讀>英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌>

      關(guān)于大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦稿

      時(shí)間: 韋彥867 分享

        英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌是英美文學(xué)中的珍寶。在英美文學(xué)中,尤其是早期作品中,如史詩(shī)及戲劇都是以詩(shī)歌的形式出現(xiàn)。欣賞英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌是英語(yǔ)學(xué)習(xí)的重要部分。小編精心收集了關(guān)于大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦稿,供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!

        關(guān)于大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦稿篇1

        The Ship

        by William Logan

        The sunlight burned like wire on the water,

        that morning the ghost ship drove upriver.

        The only witness was a Jersey cow.

        Florid and testy, a miniature industrialist,

        the steam tug spouted its fiery plume of smoke,

        and on the bank the dead trout lolled,

        beyond the reach of the fishermen now.

        From a distance the fish lay sprawled like sailors

        after a great sea battle, the masts and spars

        splintered like matchsticks on the water; the mist

        hovering over inlets, cannon-smoke drifting

        off the now-purple, now-green bloom of river.

        In shadow a train inched across a brick viaduct

        ruling the still-dark valley,

        as aqueducts once bullied the dawn campagna.

        The cows resented the Cincinnatus patriot,

        knowing they too were bred for slaughter.

        The morning was a painting: the battered warship

        hung with dawn lights like a chestful of medals,

        the barren canvas of the Thames, empty out of respect,

        the steam tug beetling to the breaker's yard.

        The sun lay on the horizon like a vegetable.

        關(guān)于大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦稿篇2

        The Shield of Achilles

        by W. H. Auden

        She looked over his shoulder

        For vines and olive trees,

        Marble well-governed cities

        And ships upon untamed seas,

        But there on the shining metal

        His hands had put instead

        An artificial wilderness

        And a sky like lead.

        A plain without a feature, bare and brown,

        No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,

        Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,

        Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood

        An unintelligible multitude,

        A million eyes, a million boots in line,

        Without expression, waiting for a sign.

        Out of the air a voice without a face

        Proved by statistics that some cause was just

        In tones as dry and level as the place:

        No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;

        Column by column in a cloud of dust

        They marched away enduring a belief

        Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

        She looked over his shoulder

        For ritual pieties,

        White flower-garlanded heifers,

        Libation and sacrifice,

        But there on the shining metal

        Where the altar should have been,

        She saw by his flickering forge-light

        Quite another scene.

        Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot

        Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke)

        And sentries sweated for the day was hot:

        A crowd of ordinary decent folk

        Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke

        As three pale figures were led forth and bound

        To three posts driven upright in the ground.

        The mass and majesty of this world, all

        That carries weight and always weighs the same

        Lay in the hands of others; they were small

        And could not hope for help and no help came:

        What their foes like to do was done, their shame

        Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride

        And died as men before their bodies died.

        She looked over his shoulder

        For athletes at their games,

        Men and women in a dance

        Moving their sweet limbs

        Quick, quick, to music,

        But there on the shining shield

        His hands had set no dancing-floor

        But a weed-choked field.

        A ragged urchin, aimless and alone,

        Loitered about that vacancy; a bird

        Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone:

        That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third,

        Were axioms to him, who'd never heard

        Of any world where promises were kept,

        Or one could weep because another wept.

        The thin-lipped armorer,

        Hephaestos, hobbled away,

        Thetis of the shining breasts

        Cried out in dismay

        At what the god had wrought

        To please her son, the strong

        Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles

        Who would not live long.

        關(guān)于大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦稿篇3

        The Silence

        by Philip Schultz

        You always called late and drunk,

        your voice luxurious with pain,

        I, tightly wrapped in dreaming,

        listening as if to a ghost.

        Tonight a friend called to say your body

        was found in your apartment, where

        it had lain for days. You'd lost your job,

        stopped writing, saw nobody for weeks.

        Your heart, he said. Drink had destroyed you.

        We met in a college town, first teaching jobs,

        poems flowing from a grief we enshrined

        with myth and alcohol. I envied the way

        women looked at you, a bear blunt with rage,

        tearing through an ever-darkening wood.

        Once we traded poems like photos of women

        whose beauty tested God's faith. 'Read this one

        about how friendship among the young can't last,

        it will rip your heart out of your chest!'

        Once you called to say J was leaving,

        the pain stuck in your throat like a razor blade.

        A woman was calling me back to bed

        so I said I'd call back. But I never did.

        The deep forlorn smell of moss and pine

        behind your stone house, you strumming

        and singing Lorca, Vallejo, De Andrade,

        as if each syllable tasted of blood,

        as if you had all the time in the world. . .

        You knew your angels loved you

        but you also knew they would leave

        someone they could not save.

        關(guān)于大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦稿篇4

        Cherries in the Snow

        by Richard Jones

        My mother never appeared in public

        without lipstick. If we were going out,

        I'd have to wait by the door until

        she painted her lips and turned

        from the hallway mirror,

        put on her gloves and picked up her purse,

        opening the purse to see

        if she'd remembered tissues.

        After lunch in a restaurant

        she might ask,

        "Do I need lipstick?"

        If I said yes,

        she would discretely turn

        and refresh her faded lips.

        Opening the black and gold canister,

        she'd peer in a round compact

        as if she were looking into another world.

        Then she'd touch her lips to a tissue.

        Whenever I went searching

        in her coat pocket or purse

        for coins or candy

        I'd find, crumpled, those small white tissues

        covered with bloodred kisses.

        I'd slip them into my pocket,

        along with the stones and feathers

        I thought, back then, I'd keep.

        
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