经典的英文诗词朗诵稿

2017-03-07

经典的英文诗词朗诵稿篇一

Amy Lowell - Stravinsky’s Three Pieces

First Movement

Thin-voiced, nasal pipes

Drawing sound out and out

Until it is a screeching thread,

Sharp and cutting, sharp and cutting,

It hurts.

Whee-e-e!

Bump! Bump! Tong-ti-bump!

There are drums here,

Banging,

And wooden shoes beating the round, grey stones

Of the market-place.

Whee-e-e!

Sabots slapping the worn, old stones,

And a shaking and cracking of dancing bones;

Clumsy and hard they are,

And uneven,

Losing half a beat

Because the stones are slippery.

Bump-e-ty-tong! Whee-e-e! Tong!

The thin Spring leaves

Shake to the banging of shoes.

Shoes beat, slap,

Shuffle, rap,

And the nasal pipes squeal with their pigs' voices,

Little pigs' voices

Weaving among the dancers,

A fine white thread

Linking up the dancers.

Bang! Bump! Tong!

Petticoats,

Stockings,

Sabots,

Delirium flapping its thigh-bones;

Red, blue, yellow,

Drunkenness steaming in colours;

Red, yellow, blue,

Colours and flesh weaving together,

In and out, with the dance,

Coarse stuffs and hot flesh weaving together.

Pigs' cries white and tenuous,

White and painful,

White and --

Bump!

Tong!

Second Movement

Pale violin music whiffs across the moon,

A pale smoke of violin music blows over the moon,

Cherry petals fall and flutter,

And the white Pierrot,

Wreathed in the smoke of the violins,

Splashed with cherry petals falling, falling,

Claws a grave for himself in the fresh earth

With his finger-nails.

Third Movement

An organ growls in the heavy roof-groins of a church,

It wheezes and coughs.

The nave is blue with incense,

Writhing, twisting,

Snaking over the heads of the chanting priests.

`Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine';

The priests whine their bastard Latin

And the censers swing and click.

The priests walk endlessly

Round and round,

Droning their Latin

Off the key.

The organ crashes out in a flaring chord,

And the priests hitch their chant up half a tone.

`Dies illa, dies irae,

Calamitatis et miseriae,

Dies magna et amara valde.'

A wind rattles the leaded windows.

The little pear-shaped candle flames leap and flutter,

`Dies illa, dies irae;'

The swaying smoke drifts over the altar,

`Calamitatis et miseriae;'

The shuffling priests sprinkle holy water,

`Dies magna et amara valde;'

And there is a stark stillness in the midst of them

Stretched upon a bier.

His ears are stone to the organ,

His eyes are flint to the candles,

His body is ice to the water.

Chant, priests,

Whine, shuffle, genuflect,

He will always be as rigid as he is now

Until he crumbles away in a dust heap.

`Lacrymosa dies illa,

Qua resurget ex favilla

Judicandus homo reus.'

Above the grey pillars the roof is in darkness.

经典的英文诗词朗诵稿篇二

Amy Lowell - Patterns

I walk down the garden paths,

And all the daffodils

Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.

I walk down the patterned garden-paths

In my stiff, brocaded gown.

With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,

I too am a rare

Pattern. As I wander down

The garden paths.

My dress is richly figured,

And the train

Makes a pink and silver stain

On the gravel, and the thrift

Of the borders.

Just a plate of current fashion,

Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.

Not a softness anywhere about me,

Only whalebone and brocade.

And I sink on a seat in the shade

Of a lime tree. For my passion

Wars against the stiff brocade.

The daffodils and squills

Flutter in the breeze

As they please.

And I weep;

For the lime-tree is in blossom

And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

And the plashing of waterdrops

In the marble fountain

Comes down the garden-paths.

The dripping never stops.

Underneath my stiffened gown

Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,

A basin in the midst of hedges grown

So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,

But she guesses he is near,

And the sliding of the water

Seems the stroking of a dear

Hand upon her.

What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!

I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.

All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the

paths,

And he would stumble after,

Bewildered by my laughter.

I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles

on his shoes.

I would choose

To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,

A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,

Till he caught me in the shade,

And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,

Aching, melting, unafraid.

With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,

And the plopping of the waterdrops,

All about us in the open afternoon

I am very like to swoon

With the weight of this brocade,

For the sun sifts through the shade.

Underneath the fallen blossom

In my bosom,

Is a letter I have hid.

It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.

"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell

Died in action Thursday se'nnight."

As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,

The letters squirmed like snakes.

"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.

"No," I told him.

"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.

No, no answer."

And I walked into the garden,

Up and down the patterned paths,

In my stiff, correct brocade.

The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,

Each one.

I stood upright too,

Held rigid to the pattern

By the stiffness of my gown.

Up and down I walked,

Up and down.

In a month he would have been my husband.

In a month, here, underneath this lime,

We would have broke the pattern;

He for me, and I for him,

He as Colonel, I as Lady,

On this shady seat.

He had a whim

That sunlight carried blessing.

And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."

Now he is dead.

In Summer and in Winter I shall walk

Up and down

The patterned garden-paths

In my stiff, brocaded gown.

The squills and daffodils

Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.

I shall go

Up and down,

In my gown.

Gorgeously arrayed,

Boned and stayed.

And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace

By each button, hook, and lace.

For the man who should loose me is dead,

Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,

In a pattern called a war.

Christ! What are patterns for?

经典的英文诗词朗诵稿篇三

朗费罗圣诞作诗《圣诞钟声》

Christmas Bells

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat