关于秋天的优美英文诗句

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关于秋天的优美英文诗句篇一

晚秋的情趣

By Adrienne Rich (女)艾德里安娜。里奇

The river-fog will do for privacy

on the low road a breath

here， there， a cloudiness floating on the black top

sunflower heads turned black and bowed

the seas of corn a stubble

the old routes flowing north， if not to freedom

no human figure now in sight

(with whom do you believe your lot is cast?)

only the functional figure of the scarecrow

the cut corn， ground to shreds， heaped in a shape

like an Indian burial mound

a haunted-looking， ordinary thing

The work of winter starts fermenting in my head

how with the hands of a lover or a midwife

to hold back till the time is right

force nothing， be unforced

accept no giant miracles of growth

by counterfeit light

trust roots， allow the days to shrink

give credence to these slender means

wait without sadness and with grave impatience

here in the north where winter has a meaning

where the heaped colors suddenly go ashen

where nothing is promised

learn what an underground journey

has been， might have to be; speak in a winter code

let fog， sleet， translate; wind， carry them.

关于秋天的优美英文诗句篇二

A Fall Song

by Ellen Robena Field

Golden and red trees

Nod to the soft breeze,

As it whispers, "Winter is near;"

And the brown nuts fall

At the wind's loud call,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Good-by, sweet flowers!

Through bright Summer hours

You have filled our hearts with cheer

We shall miss you so,

And yet you must go,

For this is the Fall of the year.

Now the days grow cold,

As the year grows old,

And the meadows are brown and sere;

Brave robin redbreast

Has gone from his nest,

For this is the Fall of the year.

I do softly pray

At the close of day,

That the little children, so dear,

May as purely grow

As the fleecy snow

That follows the Fall of the year.

关于秋天的优美英文诗句篇三

To Autumn

by John Keats J.

1

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun,

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

2

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair sort-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

Dows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers.

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

3

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a waiful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles form a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.