英语六级阅读错三个-英语六级诗歌阅读三篇

【#英语资源# 导语】将英语诗歌引入英语课堂教学,对于提高教学效率与教学质量具有十分重要的意义,同时也有利于提高学生的综合素质。下面是由®文档大全网带来的英语六级诗歌阅读，欢迎阅读!

【篇一】英语六级诗歌阅读

　　Friends 朋友

　　A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.

　　真正的朋友是一个可以援手帮助并感动你心扉的人。

　　There's always going to be people that hurt you,so what you have to do is keep on trusting and just be more careful about who you trust next time around.

　　别人常常伤害你，所以你该继续付出信任，并小心挑选你下次信任的人。

　　Make youself a better person and know who you are before you try and know someone else and expect them to know you.

　　在你想了解别人也想让别人了解你之前，先完善并了解自己。

　　Remember:Whatever happens,happens for a reason.

　　要记住：任何事情的发生都有因有起。

　　How many people actually have 8 true friends?Hardly anyone I know.But some of us have all right friends and good friends.

　　有多少人可以拥有八个真正的朋友?就我所知少之又少。但我们会有泛泛之交和好友。

【篇二】英语六级诗歌阅读

　　To The Cuckoo

　　William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)

　　O blithe New-comer! I have heard,

　　I hear thee and rejoice,

　　O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,

　　Or but a wandering Voice?

　　While I am lying on the grass

　　Thy twofold shout I hear,

　　From hill to hill it seems to pass,

　　At once far off, and near.

　　Though babbling only to the Vale,

　　Of sunshine and of flowers,

　　Thou bringest unto me a tale

　　Of visionary hours.

　　Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!

　　Even yet thou art to me

　　No bird, but an invisible thing,

　　A voice, a mystery;

　　The same whom in my school-boy days

　　I listened to; that Cry

　　Which made me look a thousand ways

　　In bush, and tree, and sky.

　　To seek thee did I often rove

　　Through woods and on the green;

　　And thou wert still a hope, a love;

　　Still longed for, never seen.

　　And I can listen to thee yet;

　　Can lie upon the plain

　　And listen, till I do beget

　　That golden time again.

　　O blessèd Bird! the earth we pace

　　Again appears to be

　　An unsubstantial, faery place;

　　That is fit home for Thee!

【篇三】英语六级诗歌阅读

　　Ode To A Nightingale

　　John Keats (1795 - 1821)

　　My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

　　My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

　　Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

　　One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

　　‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

　　But being too happy in thy happiness,

　　That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

　　In some melodious plot

　　Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

　　Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

　　O for a draught of vintage, that hath been

　　Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,

　　Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

　　Dance, and Proven?al song, and sun-burnt mirth!

　　O for a beaker full of the warm South,

　　Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

　　With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

　　And purple-stained mouth;

　　That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

　　And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

　　Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

　　What thou among the leaves hast never known,

　　The weariness, the fever, and the fret

　　Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

　　Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

　　Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

　　Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

　　And leaden-eyed despairs;

　　Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

　　Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

　　Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

　　Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

　　But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

　　Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

　　Already with thee! tender is the night,

　　And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

　　Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;

　　But here there is no light,

　　Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

　　Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

　　I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

　　Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

　　But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

　　Wherewith the seasonable month endows

　　The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

　　White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

　　Fast-fading violets cover’d up in leaves;

　　And mid-May’s eldest child,

　　The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

　　The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

　　Darkling I listen; and for many a time

　　I have been half in love with easeful Death,

　　Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

　　To take into the air my quiet breath;

　　Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

　　To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

　　While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

　　In such an ecstasy!

　　Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain

　　To thy high requiem become a sod.

　　Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

　　No hungry generations tread thee down;

　　The voice I hear this passing night was heard

　　In ancient days by emperor and clown:

　　Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

　　Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home,

　　She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

　　The same that oft-times hath

　　Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

　　Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

　　Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

　　To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

　　Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

　　As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

　　Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

　　Past the near meadows, over the still stream

　　Up the hill-side; and now ‘tis buried deep

　　In the next valley-glades:

　　Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

　　Fled is that music: - do I wake or sleep?

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