关于好的英文诗歌欣赏
英语诗歌作为文学的表现形式之一,在分类、节奏、韵律、构思、词序、选词等方面都自成体系,以自己独特的形式展示着诗人对生活的理解。小编整理了关于好的英文诗歌，欢迎阅读!
关于好的英文诗歌篇一
Continued
by Piotr Sommer
Nothing will be the same as it was，
even enjoying the same things
won't be the same. Our sorrows
will differ one from the other and we
will differ one from the other in our worries.
And nothing will be the same as it was，
nothing at all. Simple thoughts will sound
different， newer， since they'll be more simply， more newly
spoken. The heart will know how to open up and love
won't be love anymore. Everything will change.
Nothing will be the same as it was
and that too will be new somehow， since after all，
before， things could be similar： morning，
the rest of the day， evening and night， but not now.
关于好的英文诗歌篇二
The White Room
by Charles Simic
The obvious is difficult
To prove. Many prefer
The hidden. I did， too.
I listened to the trees.
They had a secret
Which they were about to
Make known to me——
And then didn't.
Summer came. Each tree
On my street had its own
Scheherazade. My nights
Were a part of their wild
Storytelling. We were
Entering dark houses，
Always more dark houses，
Hushed and abandoned.
There was someone with eyes closed
On the upper floors.
The fear of it， and the wonder，
Kept me sleepless.
The truth is bald and cold，
Said the woman
Who always wore white.
She didn't leave her room.
The sun pointed to one or two
Things that had survived
The long night intact.
The simplest things，
Difficult in their obviousness.
They made no noise.
It was the kind of day
People described as "perfect."
Gods disguising themselves
As black hairpins， a hand-mirror，
A comb with a tooth missing?
No! That wasn't it.
Just things as they are，
Unblinking， lying mute
In that bright light——
And the trees waiting for the night.
关于好的英文诗歌篇三
Continuity
by A. R. Ammons
I've pressed so
far away from
my desire that
if you asked
me what I
want I would，
accepting the harmonious
completion of the
drift， say annihilation，
probably.
关于好的英文诗歌篇四
The Wine-Drinkers
by Tennessee Williams
The wine-drinkers sit on the porte cochère in the sun.
Their lack of success in love has made them torpid.
They move their fans with a motion that stirs no feather，
the glare of the sun has darkened their complexions.
Let us commend them on their conversations.
One says "oh" and the other says "indeed."
The afternoon must be prolonged forever，
because the night will be impossible for them.
They know that the bright and very delicate needles
inserted beneath the surfaces of their skins
will work after dark—at present are drugged， are dormant.
Nobody dares to make any sudden disturbance.
One says "no，" the other one murmurs "why?"
The cousins pause： tumescent.
What do they dream of? Murder?
They dream of lust and they long for violent action but none occurs.
Their quarrels perpetually die from a lack of momentum
The light is empty： the sun forestalls reflection.
关于好的英文诗歌篇五
The Wolf's Postcript to 'Little Red Riding Hood'
by Agha Shahid Ali
First， grant me my sense of history：
I did it for posterity，
for kindergarten teachers
and a clear moral：
Little girls shouldn't wander off
in search of strange flowers，
and they mustn't speak to strangers.
And then grant me my generous sense of plot：
Couldn't I have gobbled her up
right there in the jungle?
Why did I ask her where her grandma lived?
As if I， a forest-dweller，
didn't know of the cottage
under the three oak trees
and the old woman lived there
all alone?
As if I couldn't have swallowed her years before?
And you may call me the Big Bad Wolf，
now my only reputation.
But I was no child-molester
though you'll agree she was pretty.
And the huntsman：
Was I sleeping while he snipped
my thick black fur
and filled me with garbage and stones?
I ran with that weight and fell down，
simply so children could laugh
at the noise of the stones
cutting through my belly，
at the garbage spilling out
with a perfect sense of timing，
just when the tale
should have come to an end.