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晨读经典英文诗歌

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晨读经典英文诗歌

  诗歌是一种主情的文学体裁,它以抒情方式高度凝练集中地反映社会生活,用丰富的想象,富有节奏感韵律美的语言和分行排列的形式来抒发思想情感。它是世界上最古老最基本的文学形式,是语言艺术最高的表现形式。下面是学习啦小编为大家带来晨读经典英文诗歌,希望大家喜欢!

  晨读经典英文诗歌:The Road to Avignon

  A Minstrel stands on a marble stair,

  Blown by the bright wind, debonair;

  Below lies the sea, a sapphire floor,

  Above on the terrace a turret door

  Frames a lady, listless and wan,

  But fair for the eye to rest upon.

  The minstrel plucks at his silver strings,

  And looking up to the lady, sings: --

  Down the road to Avignon,

  The long, long road to Avignon,

  Across the bridge to Avignon,

  One morning in the spring.

  The octagon tower casts a shade

  Cool and gray like a cutlass blade;

  In sun-baked vines the cicalas spin,

  The little green lizards run out and in.

  A sail dips over the ocean's rim,

  And bubbles rise to the fountain's brim.

  The minstrel touches his silver strings,

  And gazing up to the lady, sings: --

  Down the road to Avignon,

  The long, long road to Avignon,

  Across the bridge to Avignon,

  One morning in the spring.

  Slowly she walks to the balustrade,

  Idly notes how the blossoms fade

  In the sun's caress; then crosses where

  The shadow shelters a carven chair.

  Within its curve, supine she lies,

  And wearily closes her tired eyes.

  The minstrel beseeches his silver strings,

  And holding the lady spellbound, sings: --

  Down the road to Avignon,

  The long, long road to Avignon,

  Across the bridge to Avignon,

  One morning in the spring.

  Clouds sail over the distant trees,

  Petals are shaken down by the breeze,

  They fall on the terrace tiles like snow;

  The sighing of waves sounds, far below.

  A humming-bird kisses the lips of a rose

  Then laden with honey and love he goes.

  The minstrel woos with his silver strings,

  And climbing up to the lady, sings: --

  Down the road to Avignon,

  The long, long road to Avignon,

  Across the bridge to Avignon,

  One morning in the spring.

  Step by step, and he comes to her,

  Fearful lest she suddenly stir.

  Sunshine and silence, and each to each,

  The lute and his singing their only speech;

  He leans above her, her eyes unclose,

  The humming-bird enters another rose.

  The minstrel hushes his silver strings.

  Hark! The beating of humming-birds' wings!

  Down the road to Avignon,

  The long, long road to Avignon,

  Across the bridge to Avignon,

  One morning in the spring.

  晨读经典英文诗歌: A Fairy Tale

  On winter nights beside the nursery fire

  We read the fairy tale, while glowing coals

  Builded its pictures. There before our eyes

  We saw the vaulted hall of traceried stone

  Uprear itself, the distant ceiling hung

  With pendent stalactites like frozen vines;

  And all along the walls at intervals,

  Curled upwards into pillars, roses climbed,

  And ramped and were confined, and clustered leaves

  Divided where there peered a laughing face.

  The foliage seemed to rustle in the wind,

  A silent murmur, carved in still, gray stone.

  High pointed windows pierced the southern wall

  Whence proud escutcheons flung prismatic fires

  To stain the tessellated marble floor

  With pools of red, and quivering green, and blue;

  And in the shade beyond the further door,

  Its sober squares of black and white were hid

  Beneath a restless, shuffling, wide-eyed mob

  Of lackeys and retainers come to view

  The Christening.

  A sudden blare of trumpets, and the throng

  About the entrance parted as the guests

  Filed singly in with rare and precious gifts.

  Our eager fancies noted all they brought,

  The glorious, unattainable delights!

  But always there was one unbidden guest

  Who cursed the child and left it bitterness.

  The fire falls asunder, all is changed,

  I am no more a child, and what I see

  Is not a fairy tale, but life, my life.

  The gifts are there, the many pleasant things:

  Health, wealth, long-settled friendships, with a name

  Which honors all who bear it, and the power

  Of making words obedient. This is much;

  But overshadowing all is still the curse,

  That never shall I be fulfilled by love!

  Along the parching highroad of the world

  No other soul shall bear mine company.

  Always shall I be teased with semblances,

  With cruel impostures, which I trust awhile

  Then dash to pieces, as a careless boy

  Flings a kaleidoscope, which shattering

  Strews all the ground about with coloured sherds.

  So I behold my visions on the ground

  No longer radiant, an ignoble heap

  Of broken, dusty glass. And so, unlit,

  Even by hope or faith, my dragging steps

  Force me forever through the passing days.

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