英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌欣賞
在生活、工作和學(xué)習(xí)中，大家對(duì)詩(shī)歌都再熟悉不過了吧，詩(shī)歌是一種抒情言志的文學(xué)體裁。還苦于找不到好的.詩(shī)歌？以下是小編收集整理的英語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌欣賞，歡迎閱讀與收藏。
Against Love
Hence Cupid! with your cheating toys,
Your real griefs, and painted joys,
Your pleasure which itself destroys.
Lovers like men in fevers burn and rave,
And only what will injre them do crave.
Mens weakness makes love so severe,
They give him power by their fear,
And make the shackles which they wear.
Who to another does his heart submit,
Makes his own idol,and then worships it.
Him whose heart is all his own,
Peace and liberty does crown,
He apprehends no killing frown.
He feels no raptures which are joys diseased,
And is not much transported,but still pleased.
The Youth
There are gains for all our losses.
There are balms for all our pain;
But when youth, the dream, departs
It takes something from our hearts,
And it never comes again.
We are stronger, and are better,
Under manhood’s sterner reign;
Still we feel that something sweet
Following youth, with flying feet,
And will never come again.
Something beautiful is vanished,
And we sigh for it in vain;
We behold it everywhere,
On the earth, and in the air,
But it never comes again!
Love
I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.
No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is ,wont make you cry.
The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside them knowing you cant have them.
Never frown, even when you are sad, because you never know who is falling in love with your smile.
To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
Dont waste your time on a man/woman, who isnt willing to waste their time on you.
Just because someone doesnt love you the way you want them to, doesn’t mean they dont love you with all they have.
Dont try to hard, the best things come when you least expect them to.
Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one, so that when we finally meet the person, we will know how to be grateful.
Dont cry because it is over, smile because it happened.
Trees
J.Kilmer
I think that I shall J.Kilmernever see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
against the earths sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with the rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
My Father
When I was:
Four years old: My daddy can do anything.
Five years old: My daddy knows a whole lot.
Six years old: My dad is smarter than your dad.
Eight years old: My dad doesnt know exactly everything.
Ten years old: In the olden days, when my dad grew up, things were sure different.
Twelve years old: Oh, well, naturally, Dad doesnt know anything about that. He is too old to remember his childhood.
Fourteen years old: Dont pay any attention to my dad. He is so old-fashioned.
Twenty-one years old: Him? My Lord, hes hopelessly out of date.
Twenty-five years old: Dad knows about it, but then he should, because he has been around so long.
Thirty years old: Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks. After all, hes had a lot of experience.
Thirty-five years old: Im not doing a single thing until I talk to Dad.
Forty years old: I wonder how Dad would have handled it. He was so wise.
Fifty years old: Id give anything if Dad were here now so I could talk this over with him. Too bad I didnt appreciate how smart he was. I could have learned a lot from him.
By The Arno
The oleander on the wall
Grows crimson in the dawning light,
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall.
The dew is bright upon the hill,
And bright the blossoms overhead,
But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
The little Attic song is still.
Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale,
And in the almond－scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard.
The day will make thee silent soon,
O nightingale sing on for love!
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon.
Before across the silent lawn
In sea－green vest the morning steals,
And to loves frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawn
Fast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
All careless of my hearts delight,
Or if the nightingale should die.
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