關於英文詩歌朗誦精選

  詩歌本身包含的豐富社會生活內容和藝術內涵,詩歌語言的獨特的美與和諧都使它們具有無窮的魅力,所以凡學習英語文學的人都會情不自禁要對英語詩歌傾注特別的熱情和關注。小編精心收集了關於英文詩歌,供大家欣賞學習!

  關於英文詩歌篇1

  Olympia

  by Henri Cole

  Tired, hungry, hot, I climbed the steep slope

  to town, a sultry, watery place, crawling with insects and birds.

  In the semidarkness of the mountain,

  small things loomed large: a donkey urinating on a palm;

  a salt-and-saliva-stained boy riding on his mother's back;

  a shy roaming black Adam. I was walking on an edge.

  The moments fused into one crystalline rock,

  like ice in a champagne bucket. Time was plunging forward,

  like dolphins scissoring open water or like me,

  following Jenny's flippers down to see the coral reef,

  where the color of sand, sea and sky merged,

  and it was as if that was all God wanted:

  not a wife, a house or a position,

  but a self, like a needle, pushing in a vein.

  關於英文詩歌篇2

  Old English riddle

  by Anonymous

  My dress is silent when I tread the ground

  Or stay at home or stir upon the waters.

  Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air

  Raise me above the dwelling-place of men,

  And then the power of clouds carries me far

  Above the people; and my ornaments

  Loudly resound, send forth a melody

  And clearly sing, when I am not in touch

  With earth or water, but a flying spirit.

  關於英文詩歌篇3

  Porch Swing in September

  by Ted Kooser

  The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun

  that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion

  whose flowers have faded, like those of summer,

  and a small brown spider has hung out her web

  on a line between porch post and chain

  so that no one may swing without breaking it.

  She is saying it‘s time that the swinging were done with,

  time that the creaking and pinging and popping

  that sang through the ceiling were past,

  time now for the soft vibrations of moths,

  the wasp tapping each board for an entrance,

  the cool dewdrops to brush from her work

  every morning, one world at a time

  關於英文詩歌篇4

  Portrait in Georgia

  by Jean Toomer

  Hair——braided chestnut,

  coiled like a lyncher's rope,

  Eyes——fagots,

  Lips——old scars, or the first red blisters,

  Breath——the last sweet scent of cane,

  And her slim body, white as the ash of black flesh after flame.

  關於英文詩歌篇5

  On 52nd Street

  by Philip Levine

  Down sat Bud, raised his hands,

  the Deuces silenced, the lights

  lowered, and breath gathered

  for the coming storm. Then nothing,

  not a single note. Outside starlight

  from heaven fell unseen, a quarter-moon,

  promised, was no show,

  ditto the rain. Late August of '50,

  NYC, the long summer of abundance

  and our new war. In the mirror behind

  the bar, the spirits imitating you

  stared at themselves. At the bar

  the tenor player up from Philly, shut

  his eyes and whispered to no one,

  "Same thing last night." Everyone

  been coming all week long

  to hear this. The big brown bass

  sighed and slumped against

  the piano, the cymbals held

  their dry cheeks and stopped

  chicking and chucking. You went

  back to drinking and ignored

  the unignorable. When the door

  swung open it was Pettiford

  in work clothes, midnight suit,

  starched shirt, narrow black tie,

  spit shined shoes, as ready

  as he'd ever be. Eyebrows

  raised, the Irish bartender

  shook his head, so Pettiford eased

  himself down at an empty table,

  closed up his Herald Tribune,

  and shook his head. Did the TV

  come on, did the jukebox bring us

  Dinah Washington, did the stars

  keep their appointments, did the moon

  show, quartered or full, sprinkling

  its soft light down? The night's

  still there, just where it was, just

  where it'll always be without

  its music. You're still there too

  holding your breath. Bud walked out.