關於經典哲理生活英文詩

　　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，供大家欣賞學習!

　　篇1

　　Star Quilt

　　by Roberta J. Hill

　　These are notes to lightning in my bedroom.

　　A star forged from linen1 thread and patches.

　　Purple， yellow， red like diamond suckers， children

　　of the star gleam on sweaty nights. The quilt unfolds

　　against sheets， moving， warm clouds of Chinook.

　　It covers my cuts， my red birch clusters under pine.

　　Under it your mouth begins a legend，

　　and wide as the plain， I hope Wisconsin marshes

　　promise your caress. The candle locks

　　us in forest smells， your cheek tattered

　　by shadow. Sweetened by wings， my mothlike heart

　　flies nightly among geraniums.

　　We know of land that looks lonely，

　　but isn't， of beef with hides of velveteen，

　　of sorrow， an eddy in blood.

　　Star quilt， sewn from dawn light by fingers

　　of flint， take away those touches

　　meant for noisier skins，

　　annoint us with grass and twilight air，

　　so we may embrace， two bitter roots

　　pushing back into the dust.

　　篇2

　　Stars Wheel in Purple

　　by H. D.

　　Stars wheel in purple， yours is not so rare

　　as Hesperus， nor yet so great a star

　　as bright Aldeboran or Sirius，

　　nor yet the stained and brilliant one of War;

　　stars turn in purple， glorious to the sight;

　　yours is not gracious as the Pleiads are

　　nor as Orion's sapphires， luminous;

　　yet disenchanted， cold， imperious face，

　　when all the others blighted， reel and fall，

　　your star， steel-set， keeps lone and frigid tryst

　　to freighted ships， baffled in wind and blast.

　　篇3

　　Rent

　　by Jane Cooper

　　If you want my apartment， sleep in it

　　but let's have a clear understanding：

　　the books are still free agents.

　　If the rocking chair's arms surround you

　　they can also let you go，

　　they can shape the air like a body.

　　I don't want your rent， I want

　　a radiance of attention

　　like the candle's flame when we eat，

　　I mean a kind of awe

　　attending the spaces between us——

　　Not a roof but a field of stars.

　　篇4

　　Steps

　　by Grace Schulman

　　"And down and down and down，"

　　the toddler's mother sings

　　as he clears every ledge.

　　Midway we cross their path.

　　In rain， the museum's steps

　　loom like the Giant's Stairway

　　to Guardi's Ducal Palace.

　　"And up and up and up"

　　is what I do not say

　　as you stagger for balance.

　　Once I'd scaled that summit，

　　hunted over the crowd，

　　and saw you below， holding

　　two hot dogs and white roses;

　　you vaulted， took the steps

　　two at a time， then three，

　　and leaped to where we met.

　　Your smile is broader now.

　　You see more. On this day

　　of wavering， we hear

　　a Triton blow the horn

　　where Giotto's Magi open

　　hands that rise in air：

　　up， and up， and up.

　　篇5

　　Streets

　　by Naomi Shihab Nye

　　A man leaves the world

　　and the streets he lived on

　　grow a little shorter.

　　One more window dark

　　in this city， the figs on his branches

　　will soften for birds.

　　If we stand quietly enough evenings

　　there grows a whole company of us

　　standing quietly together.

　　overhead loud grackles are claiming their trees

　　and the sky which sews and sews， tirelessly sewing，

　　drops her purple hem.

　　Each thing in its time， in its place，

　　it would be nice to think the same about people.

　　Some people do. They sleep completely，

　　waking refreshed. Others live in two worlds，

　　the lost and remembered.

　　They sleep twice， once for the one who is gone，

　　once for themselves. They dream thickly，

　　dream double， they wake from a dream

　　into another one， they walk the short streets

　　calling out names， and then they answer.