英语经典晨读美文欣赏

2016-12-09

英语经典晨读美文：爱美之心

The love of beauty

is an essential part of all healthy human nature.

It is a moral quality.

The absence of it is not an assured ground of condemnation,

but the presence of it is an invariable sign of goodness of heart.

In proportion to the degree in which it is felt

will probably be the degree

in which nobleness and beauty of character will be attained.

Natural beauty is an all-pervading presence.

The universe is its temple.

It unfolds into the numberless flowers of spring.

It waves in the branches of trees and the green blades of grass.

It haunts the depths of the earth and the sea.

It gleams from the hues of the shell and the precious stone.

And not only these minute objects but the oceans,

the mountains, the clouds, the stars,

the rising and the setting sun — all overflow with beauty.

This beauty is so precious,

and so congenial to our tenderest and noblest feelings,

that it is painful to think of the multitude of people

living in the midst of it

and yet remaining almost blind to it.

All people should seek to become acquainted

with the beauty in nature.

There is not a worm we tread upon,

nor a leaf that dances merrily as it falls

before the autumn winds,

that does not call for our study and admiration.

The power to appreciate beauty

not only increases our sources of happiness —

it enlarges our moral nature, too.

Beauty calms our restlessness and dispels our cares.

Go into the fields or the woods,

spend a summer day by the sea or the mountains,

and all your little perplexities and anxieties will vanish.

Listen to sweet music,

and your foolish fears and petty jealousies will pass away.

The beauty of the world

helps us to seek and find the beauty of goodness.

英语经典晨读美文：七月之美

One has the leisure of July for perceiving all the differences of the green of leaves. It is no longer a difference in degrees of maturity, for all the trees have darkened to their final tone, and stand in their differences of character and not of mere date. Almost all the green is grave, not sad and not dull. It has a darkened and a daily colour, in majestic but not obvious harmony with dark grey skies, and might look, to inconstant eyes, as prosaic after spring as eleven o’clock looks after the dawn.

Gravity is the word — not solemnity as towards evening, nor menace as at night. The daylight trees of July are signs of common beauty, common freshness, and a mystery familiar and abiding as night and day. In childhood we all have a more exalted sense of dawn and summer sunrise than we ever fully retain or quite recover; and also a far higher sensibility for April and April evenings — a heartache for them, which in riper years is gradually and irretrievably consoled. But, on the other hand, childhood has so quickly learned to find daily things tedious, and familiar things importunate, that it has no great delight in the mere middle of the day, and feels weariness of the summer that has ceased to change visibly.

The poetry of mere day and of late summer becomes perceptible to mature eyes that have long ceased to be sated, have taken leave of weariness, and cannot now find anything in nature too familiar; eyes which have, indeed, lost sight of the further awe of midsummer daybreak, and no longer see so much of the past in April twilight as they saw when they had no past; but which look freshly at the dailiness of green summer, of early afternoon, of every sky of any form that comes to pass, and of the darkened elms.