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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)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌欣賞

      關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌欣賞

      時(shí)間: 韋彥867 分享

      關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌欣賞

        英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌是英國(guó)文學(xué)的精粹,更是世界文學(xué)的瑰寶,集中體現(xiàn)了詩(shī)歌形式美與非形式美的高度統(tǒng)一并傳遞了詩(shī)歌的美學(xué)價(jià)值,給人以音樂(lè)美、視覺(jué)美、意象美。小編精心收集了關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌,供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!

        關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌篇1

        The Philosopher in Florida

        by C. Dale Young

        Midsummer lies on this town

        like a plague: locusts now replaced

        by humidity, the bloodied Nile

        now an algae-covered rivulet

        struggling to find its terminus.

        Our choice is a simple one:

        to leave or to remain, to render

        the Spanish moss a memory

        or to pull it from trees, repeatedly.

        And this must be what the young

        philosopher felt, the pull of a dialectic so basic

        the mind refuses, normally,

        to take much notice of it.

        Outside, beyond a palm-tree fence,

        a flock of ibis mounts the air,

        our concerns ignored

        by their quick white wings.

        Feathered flashes reflected in water,

        the bending necks of the cattails:

        the landscape feels nothing——

        it repeats itself with or without us.

        關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌篇2

        Cement Guitar

        by Michael Carlson

        All morning I've remembered St. Ignacio's bruise,

        jaundiced seagulls over Quonset, November

        and the gross white sky. Days so long

        you walk home fifteen miles from the restaurant.

        Same waitress every day of your life

        and she never remembers your allergies.

        Nothing on the map but scone crumbs

        and a drop of tea. Just manifold food and a dead request

        to bury the last of your seven receipts.

        Mother of foster-wit, father of straw,

        I can see how silence takes the place of those

        who cut their thoughts in stone before they need them.

        Stone is the past, and the past is a form of flattery.

        Last winter, groups of children sent letters

        in sadness for the late Christmas suicide.

        Addressed to those who managed the fishery,

        who named the docks and decided the colors of unfinished boats,

        the only way to read them was alive.

        To think out loud about those children's names

        was to forget what you meant by dying.

        關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌篇3

        Butterfly Catcher

        by Tina Cane

        In the Sixties

        Nabokov switched

        from ink to eraser-

        topped pencil

        on index cards a box

        of cards for Ada a box

        of cards for dreams

        whose "curious features"

        include "erotic tenderness

        and heart-rending enchantment"

        in one draft

        he traded "stillness and heat"

        for "silence, a burning"

        so picture:

        Vladimir seated

        at the trunk of a tree

        a spring day

        at Wellesley where

        he marvels at his students

        and their cable-knit socks

        the way each elastic

        grips without binding

        just below

        the knee so exquisite

        an application of pressure

        that when said sock

        is slowly

        peeled off

        the skin shows

        no trace at all

        關(guān)于美麗的英文詩(shī)歌篇4

        The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

        by Sir Walter Ralegh

        If all the world and love were young,

        And truth in every shepherd's tongue,

        These pretty pleasures might me move

        To live with thee and be thy love.

        Time drives the flocks from field to fold

        When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,

        And Philomel becometh dumb;

        The rest complains of cares to come.

        The flowers do fade, and wanton fields

        To wayward winter reckoning yields;

        A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

        Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

        Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,

        Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies

        Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten——

        In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

        Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,

        Thy coral clasps and amber studs,

        All these in me no means can move

        To come to thee and be thy love.

        But could youth last and love still breed,

        Had joys no date nor age no need,

        Then these delights my mind might move

        To live with thee and be thy love.

        
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