大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦精選
大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌朗誦精選
詩(shī)歌朗讀、學(xué)習(xí)詩(shī)歌、并進(jìn)行詩(shī)歌創(chuàng)作和翻譯過(guò)程中都是一種美的感受,能夠讓學(xué)生體會(huì)其特有的韻律美,盡情發(fā)揮想象,馳騁在詩(shī)歌的海洋中。小編精心收集了大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌，供大家欣賞學(xué)習(xí)!
大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌篇1
The Ruined Maid
by Thomas Hardy
"O 'Melia， my dear， this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments， such prosperi-ty?"
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.
"You left us in tatters， without shoes or socks，
Tired of digging potatoes， and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"
"Yes： that's how we dress when we're ruined，" said she.
"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou，'
And 'thik oon，' and 'the?s oon，' and 't'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!"
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin，" said she.
"Your hands were like paws then， your face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek，
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"
"We never do work when we're ruined，" said she.
"You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream，
And you'd sigh， and you'd sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined，" said she.
"I wish I had feathers， a fine sweeping gown，
And a delicate face， and could strut about Town!"
"My dear——a raw country girl， such as you be，
Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined，" said she.
大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌篇2
The Seekers of Lice
by Arthur Rimbaud (Translated by Jeremy Harding)
When the boy's head， full of raw torment，
Longs for hazy dreams to swarm in white，
Two charming older sisters come to his bed
With slender fingers and silvery nails.
They sit him at a casement window， thrown
Open on a mass of flowers basking in blue air，
And run the fine， intimidating witchcraft
Of their fingers through his dew-dank hair.
He listens to their diffident， sing-song breath，
Smelling of elongated honey off the rose，
Broken now and then by a hiss： saliva sucked
Back from the lip， or a longing to be kissed.
He hears their dark eyelashes start in the sweet-
Smelling silence and， through his grey listlessness，
The crackle of small lice dying， beneath
The imperious nails of their soft， electric fingers.
The wine of Torpor wells up in him then
Near on trance， a harmonica-sigh
And in their slow caress he feels
The endless ebb and flow of a desire to cry.
大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌篇3
The Script
by Mónica de la Torre
I.
You thought this would be a dance lesson，
things were easier then.
No marimbas， no clarinets;
only a longing for the fun to begin.
Rain came down.
Nothing seems as remote as the days you didn't have to think about it：
always already there，gushing out.
Control was required to stop ideas from overflowing.
You did your job well，
you killed them as one kills Easter baby chickens.
II.
Rasputin was on the lookout.
Magdalene had multipurpose hair：
Kumernis had it in stocks where and when she needed it，
on her beard especially.
Anything to keep the Barbarians away will do.
Chopped noses，rotten chicken stuffed in corsets.
We were told that the demons would come out in Maine.
They hate recollections and certainty.
Their favorite verb is sabotage.
III.
Rasputin helps one to recognize inspiration;
but， oh，what could imagination be?
To retrieve， to plunder， to forge.
To be bored.
To rip kites so they may stay on the ground.
To forget jokes and misunderstand common sense.
To sit for four hours without getting up.
To count words and people and only remember their numbers.
To listen closely to what loons could be trying to say.
To permutate dots so that lines are never identical to each other.
To return to known places and act always the same，
thus the slightest change might become apparent.
To force things to happen.
To pretend there's meaning when all that comes out is a
"My dog loves me and he's no showboat."
To think there's nothing to say.
To leap from canopy to can openers to can open her.
You've begun， now use your props.
大學(xué)英文詩(shī)歌篇4
The Separate Rose: I
by Pablo Neruda (Translated by William O'Daly)
Today is that day， the day that carried
a desperate light that since has died.
Don't let the squatters know：
let's keep it all between us，
day， between your bell
and my secret.
Today is dead winter in the forgotten land
that comes to visit me， with a cross on the map
and a volcano in the snow， to return to me，
to return again the water
fallen on the roof of my childhood.
Today when the sun began with its shafts
to tell the story， so clear， so old，
the slanting rain fell like a sword，
the rain my hard heart welcomes.
You， my love， still asleep in August，
my queen， my woman， my vastness， my geography
kiss of mud， the carbon-coated zither，
you， vestment of my persistent song，
today you are reborn again and with the sky's
black water confuse me and compel me：
I must renew my bones in your kingdom，
I must still uncloud my earthly duties.
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