最美的英文诗歌欣赏,关于动人的英文诗歌欣赏

副标题:关于动人的英文诗歌欣赏

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【#英语资源# 导语】英语诗歌英语语言的瑰宝,是学习英语语言必要的媒介材料。它有助于培养英语学习兴趣,提高学生的审美情趣,因而在切实可行的操作下,能够推进大学英语素质教育。下面是由©文档大全网带来的优美动人的英文诗歌,欢迎阅读!


【篇一】关于动人的英文诗歌欣赏


  Deaths Of Flowers


  E J Scovell (1907 - 1999)


  I would if I could choose


  Age and die outwards as a tulip does;


  Not as this iris drawing in, in-coiling


  Its complex strange taut inflorescence, willing


  Itself a bud again - though all achieved is


  No more than a clenched sadness,


  The tears of gum not flowing.


  I would choose the tulip’s reckless way of going;


  Whose petals answer light, altering by fractions


  From closed to wide, from one through many perfections,


  Till wrecked, flamboyant, strayed beyond recall,


  Like flakes of fire they piecemeal fall.


【篇二】关于动人的英文诗歌欣赏


  The Garden


  Andrew Marvell (1621 - 1678)


  How vainly men themselves amaze


  To win the palm, the oak, or bays,


  And their uncessant labours see


  Crowned from some single herb or tree,


  Whose short and narrow vergèd shade


  Does prudently their toils upbraid,


  While all flow’rs and all trees do close


  To weave the garlands of repose.


  Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,


  And Innocence, thy sister dear!


  Mistaken long, I sought you then


  In busy companies of men.


  Your sacred plants, if here below,


  Only among the plants will grow.


  Society is all but rude,


  To this delicious solitude.


  No white nor red was ever seen


  So am’rous as this lovely green.


  Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,


  Cut in these trees their mistress’ name.


  Little, alas, they know, or heed,


  How far these beauties hers exceed!


  Fair trees! Wheres’e’er your barks I wound,


  No name shall but your own be found.


  When we have run our passion’s heat,


  Love hither makes his best retreat.


  The gods, that mortal beauty chase,


  Still in a tree did end their race.


  Apollo hunted Daphne so,


  Only that she might laurel grow.


  And Pan did after Syrinx speed,


  Not as a nymph, but for a reed.


  What wondrous life is this I lead!


  Ripe apples drop about my head;


  The luscious clusters of the vine


  Upon my mouth do crush their wine;


  The nectarene, and curious peach,


  Into my hands themselves do reach;


  Stumbling on melons, as I pass,


  Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.


  Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,


  Withdraws into its happiness:


  The mind, that ocean where each kind


  Does straight its own resemblance find,


  Yet it creates, transcending these,


  Far other worlds, and other seas,


  Annihilating all that’s made


  To a green thought in a green shade.


  Here at the fountain’s sliding foot,


  Or at some fruit-tree’s mossy root,


  Casting the body’s vest aside,


  My soul into the boughs does glide:


  There like a bird it sits, and sings,


  Then whets, and combs its silver wings;


  And, till prepared for longer flight,


  Waves in its plumes the various light.


  Such was the happy garden-state,


  While man there walked without a mate:


  After a place so pure, and sweet,


  What other help could yet be meet!


  But ‘twas beyond a mortal’s share


  To wander solitary there:


  Two paradises ‘twere in one


  To live in paradise alone.


  How well the skilful gardener drew


  Of flowers and herbs this dial new,


  Where from above the milder sun


  Does through a fragrant zodiac run;


  And, as it works, the industrious bee


  Computes its time as well as we.


  How could such sweet and whilesome hours


  Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers!


【篇三】关于动人的英文诗歌欣赏


  The Darkling Thrush


  Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)


  I leant upon a coppice gate


  When Frost was spectre-gray,


  And Winter’s dregs made desolate


  The weakening eye of day.


  The tangled bine-stems scored the sky


  Like strings of broken lyres,


  And all mankind that haunted nigh


  Had sought their household fires.


  The land’s sharp features seemed to be


  The Century’s corpse outleant,


  His crypt the cloudy canopy,


  The wind his death-lament.


  The ancient pulse of germ and birth


  Was shrunken hard and dry,


  And every spirit upon earth


  Seemed fervourless as I.


  At once a voice arose among


  The bleak twigs overhead


  In a full-hearted evensong


  Of joy illimited;


  An agèd thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,


  In blast-beruffled plume,


  Had chosen thus to fling his soul


  Upon the growing gloom.


  So little cause for carolings


  Of such ecstatic sound


  Was written on terrestrial things


  Afar or nigh around,


  That I could think there trembled through


  His happy good-night air


  Some blessèd Hope, whereof he knew


  And I was unaware.


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