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关于优美的英文诗词欣赏

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  诗歌本身包含的丰富社会生活内容和艺术内涵,诗歌语言的独特的美与和谐都使它们具有无穷的魅力,所以凡学习英语文学的人都会情不自禁要对英语诗歌倾注特别的热情和关注。小编精心收集了关于优美的英文诗词,供大家欣赏学习!

  关于优美的英文诗词篇1

  Mortal Limit

  by Robert Penn Warren

  I saw the hawk ride updraft in the sunset over Wyoming.

  It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray jags

  Of mercilessness, past whiteness, into the gloaming

  Of dream-spectral light above the lazy purity of snow-snags.

  There——west——were the Tetons. Snow-peaks would soon be

  In dark profile to break constellations. Beyond what height

  Hangs now the black speck? Beyond what range will gold eyes see

  New ranges rise to mark a last scrawl of light?

  Or, having tasted that atmosphere's thinness, does it

  Hang motionless in dying vision before

  It knows it will accept the mortal limit,

  And swing into the great circular downwardness that will restore

  The breath of earth? Of rock? Of rot? Of other such

  Items, and the darkness of whatever dream we clutch?

  关于优美的英文诗词篇2

  Morning in the Burned House

  by Margaret Atwood

  In the burned house I am eating breakfast.

  You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,

  yet here I am.

  The spoon which was melted scrapes against

  the bowl which was melted also.

  No one else is around.

  Where have they gone to, brother and sister,

  mother and father? Off along the shore,

  perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,

  their dishes piled beside the sink,

  which is beside the woodstove

  with its grate and sooty kettle,

  every detail clear,

  tin cup and rippled mirror.

  The day is bright and songless,

  the lake is blue, the forest watchful.

  In the east a bank of cloud

  rises up silently like dark bread.

  I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,

  I can see the flaws in the glass,

  those flares where the sun hits them.

  I can't see my own arms and legs

  or know if this is a trap or blessing,

  finding myself back here, where everything

  in this house has long been over,

  kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,

  including my own body,

  including the body I had then,

  including the body I have now

  as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,

  bare child's feet on the scorched floorboards

  (I can almost see)

  in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts

  and grubby yellow T-shirt

  holding my cindery, non-existent,

  radiant flesh. Incandescent.

  关于优美的英文诗词篇3

  Mosquito

  by Myronn Hardy

  She visits me when the lights are out,

  when the sun is loving another part of the world.

  She passes through the net I sleep under like

  a cloud its holes are easily navigable.

  Her buzzing tells me that she doesn't want my legs arms cheeks or chest.

  No.

  She craves adventure wanting to travel through

  the dark canal the spiraling cave where earthquakes are wind.

  Her prize is in sight the gelatinous mass controlling this machine.

  How beautiful she thinks it is her needle mouth filling with water.

  Her children will know physics geometry will understand

  English Spanish perhaps Portuguese.

  They will be haunted their whole lives by trees guns and a boom that won't cease.

  She cries before drinking the fluid is salty-sweet.

  Oh if my mother had done this for me I would have lived

  关于优美的英文诗词篇4

  Mostly Mick Jagger

  by Catie Rosemurgy

  1

  Thank god he stuck his tongue out.

  When I was twelve I was in danger

  of taking my body seriously.

  I thought the ache in my nipple was priceless.

  I thought I should stay very still

  and compare it to a button,

  a china saucer,

  a flash in a car side-mirror,

  so I could name the ache either big or little,

  then keep it forever. He blew no one a kiss,

  then turned into a maw.

  After I saw him, when a wish moved in my pants.

  I nurtured it. I stalked around my room

  kicking my feet up just like him, making

  a big deal of my lips. I was my own big boy.

  I wouldn't admit it then,

  but be definitely cocks his hip

  as if he is his own little girl.

  2

  People ask me——I make up interviews

  while I brush my teeth——"So, what do you remember best

  about your childhood?" I say

  mostly the drive toward Chicago.

  Feeling as if I'm being slowly pressed against the skyline.

  Hoping to break a window.

  Mostly quick handfuls of boys' skin.

  Summer twilights that took forever to get rid of.

  Mostly Mick Jagger.

  3

  How do I explain my hungry stare?

  My Friday night spent changing clothes?

  My love for travel? I rewind the way he says "now"

  with so much roof of the mouth.

  I rewind until I get a clear image of myself:

  I'm telling the joke he taught me

  about my body. My mouth is stretched open

  so I don't laugh. My hands are pretending

  to have just discovered my own face.

  My name is written out in metal studs

  across my little pink jumper.

  I've got a mirror and a good idea

  of the way I want my face to look.

  When I glance sideways my smile should twitch

  as if a funny picture of me is taped up

  inside the corner of my eye.

  A picture where my hair is combed over each shoulder,

  my breasts are well-supported, and my teeth barely show.

  A picture where I'm trying hard to say "beautiful."

  He always says "This is my skinny rib cage,

  my one, two chest hairs."

  That's all he ever says.

  Think of a bird with no feathers

  or think of a hundred lips bruising every inch of his skin.

  There are no pictures of him hoping

  he said the right thing

  
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