最好好的優美英文詩精選

　　文學是一種語言藝術,詩歌又歷來被視作文學的最高形式。學習英語詩歌不但有助於開闊視野,陶冶性情,而且對於英語學習有很大幫助。小編精心收集了最好的優美英文詩精選，供大家欣賞學習!

　　最好的優美英文詩精選篇1

　　This Work

　　by Martha Zweig

　　The cold orange hands of the salamanders still wrap

　　and unwrap the baby he dreams he was

　　then long before there was any human family.

　　Then their work was just beginning on the

　　damp stones and mosses too.

　　He had to be as little strange as possible.

　　They were making the world & working on him too.

　　He was warmer but less strange than a moss or a stone was，

　　that saved him.

　　The moss worked on the stone too.

　　The stone worked on him like a mind

　　he had to grow up to talk to or

　　dream to but without turning strange.

　　The cold hands run over him.

　　They read the body he dreams of as a baby's to the stone.

　　Before there was any human family the work

　　that make him was this work just beginning.

　　最好的優美英文詩精選篇2

　　This Was Once a Love Poem

　　by Jane Hirshfield

　　This was once a love poem，

　　before its haunches thickened， its breath grew short，

　　before it found itself sitting，

　　perplexed and a little embarrassed，

　　on the fender of a parked car，

　　while many people passed by without turning their heads.

　　It remembers itself dressing as if for a great engagement.

　　It remembers choosing these shoes，this scarf or tie.

　　Once， it drank beer for breakfast，drifted its feet

　　in a river side by side with the feet of another.

　　Once it pretended shyness， then grew truly shy，

　　dropping its head so the fair would fall forward，

　　so the eyes would not be seen.

　　IT spoke with passion of history， of art.

　　It was lovely then， this poem.

　　Under its chin， no fold of skin softened.

　　Behind the knees， no pad of yellow fat.

　　What it knew in the morning it still believed at nightfall.

　　An unconjured confidence lifted its eyebrows， its cheeks.

　　The longing has not diminished.

　　Still it understands. It is time to consider a cat，

　　the cultivation of African violets or flowering cactus.

　　Yes， it decides：

　　Many miniature cacti， in blue and red painted pots.

　　When it finds itself disquieted

　　by the pure and unfamiliar silence of its new life，

　　it will touch them—one， then another

　　with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame.

　　最好的優美英文詩精選篇3

　　Those Winter Sundays

　　by Robert Hayden

　　Sundays too my father got up early

　　and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold，

　　then with cracked hands that ached

　　from labor in the weekday weather made

　　banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

　　I'd wake and hear the cold splintering， breaking.

　　When the rooms were warm， he'd call，

　　and slowly I would rise and dress，

　　fearing the chronic angers of that house，

　　Speaking indifferently to him，

　　who had driven out the cold

　　and polished my good shoes as well.

　　What did I know， what did I know

　　of love's austere and lonely offices?

　　最好的優美英文詩精選篇4

　　The Weakness

　　by Toi Derricotte

　　That time my grandmother dragged me

　　through the perfume aisles at Saks，

　　she held me up by my arm，

　　hissing， "Stand up，"

　　through clenched teeth，

　　her eyes bright as a dog's

　　cornered in the light.

　　She said it over and over，

　　as if she were Jesus，and I were dead.

　　She had been solid as a tree，

　　a fur around her neck，

　　a light-skinned matron whose car was parked，

　　who walked on swirling marble

　　and passed through brass openings——in 1945.

　　There was not even a black elevator operator at Saks.

　　The saleswoman had brought velvet leggings to lace me in，

　　and cooed， as if in service of all grandmothers.

　　My grandmother had smiled，but not hungrily，

　　not like my mother who hated them， but wanted to please，

　　and they had smiled back，

　　as if they were wearing wooden collars.

　　When my legs gave out，

　　my grandmother ragged me up and held me like God

　　holds saints by the roots of the hair.

　　I begged her to believe I couldn't help it.

　　Stumbling， her face white with sweat，

　　she pushed me through the crowd，

　　rushing away from those eyes that saw through er clothes，

　　under her skin， all the way down to the transparent genes confessing.

　　最好的優美英文詩精選篇5

　　Consolation Miracle

　　by Chad Davidson

　　In the pewless church of San Juan Chula，

　　a Neocatholic Tzozil Indian

　　wrings a chicken's neck. Through pi?oned air，

　　stars from tourist flashbulbs flame， reflecting

　　in the reddened eyes， in the mirrors

　　statuary cling to， inside their plate-

　　glass boxes. A mother fills a shot-

　　glass with fire. Others offer up moon-

　　shine swelling in goat bladders， the slender

　　throats of coke bottles， as if gods too thirsted

　　for the real thing. The slightest angle

　　of a satellite dish sends me to Florida，

　　where the sleepless claim the stars talk

　　too much. They stumble to their own

　　worn Virgin Mary whose eyes， they swear，

　　bleed. Florida： rising with its dead，

　　even as it sinks into the glade.

　　Meanwhile， a coast away， the heavenly gait

　　of Bigfoot in the famous Super-8，

　　voiced over with a cyrptozoologist

　　who's all but laughed at the zipper-lined torso.

　　Bigfoot trails out of California

　　into my living room， a miracle

　　in the muddled middle ground of the event

　　horizon， in the swell between each seismic wave

　　where time carries itself like Bigfoot： heavy，

　　awkward， a touch too real to be real.

　　And the miracle cleaners make everything

　　disappear into faintly floral scents.

　　Miracle-starved， out of sleep or the lack of it.

　　I keep watching， not to see Bigfoot

　　but to be Bigfoot， trapse through grainy screens，

　　and the countless watching eyes， the brilliant

　　nebulae bleeding. Yeti， pray

　　you come again， you Sasquatch. Video

　　our world for your religions. Memorize

　　all these pleasure bulbs， these satellites，

　　our eyes， our stars. Look： how we turn

　　each other on tonight， one at a time.