關於英文詩歌朗誦精選

　　詩歌本身包含的豐富社會生活內容和藝術內涵,詩歌語言的獨特的美與和諧都使它們具有無窮的魅力,所以凡學習英語文學的人都會情不自禁要對英語詩歌傾注特別的熱情和關注。小編精心收集了關於英文詩歌，供大家欣賞學習!

　　關於英文詩歌篇1

　　Olympia

　　by Henri Cole

　　Tired， hungry， hot， I climbed the steep slope

　　to town， a sultry， watery place， crawling with insects and birds.

　　In the semidarkness of the mountain，

　　small things loomed large： a donkey urinating on a palm;

　　a salt-and-saliva-stained boy riding on his mother's back;

　　a shy roaming black Adam. I was walking on an edge.

　　The moments fused into one crystalline rock，

　　like ice in a champagne bucket. Time was plunging forward，

　　like dolphins scissoring open water or like me，

　　following Jenny's flippers down to see the coral reef，

　　where the color of sand， sea and sky merged，

　　and it was as if that was all God wanted：

　　not a wife， a house or a position，

　　but a self， like a needle， pushing in a vein.

　　關於英文詩歌篇2

　　Old English riddle

　　by Anonymous

　　My dress is silent when I tread the ground

　　Or stay at home or stir upon the waters.

　　Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air

　　Raise me above the dwelling-place of men，

　　And then the power of clouds carries me far

　　Above the people; and my ornaments

　　Loudly resound， send forth a melody

　　And clearly sing， when I am not in touch

　　With earth or water， but a flying spirit.

　　關於英文詩歌篇3

　　Porch Swing in September

　　by Ted Kooser

　　The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun

　　that bleaches its gray slats， its flowered cushion

　　whose flowers have faded， like those of summer，

　　and a small brown spider has hung out her web

　　on a line between porch post and chain

　　so that no one may swing without breaking it.

　　She is saying it‘s time that the swinging were done with，

　　time that the creaking and pinging and popping

　　that sang through the ceiling were past，

　　time now for the soft vibrations of moths，

　　the wasp tapping each board for an entrance，

　　the cool dewdrops to brush from her work

　　every morning， one world at a time

　　關於英文詩歌篇4

　　Portrait in Georgia

　　by Jean Toomer

　　Hair——braided chestnut，

　　coiled like a lyncher's rope，

　　Eyes——fagots，

　　Lips——old scars， or the first red blisters，

　　Breath——the last sweet scent of cane，

　　And her slim body， white as the ash of black flesh after flame.

　　關於英文詩歌篇5

　　On 52nd Street

　　by Philip Levine

　　Down sat Bud， raised his hands，

　　the Deuces silenced， the lights

　　lowered， and breath gathered

　　for the coming storm. Then nothing，

　　not a single note. Outside starlight

　　from heaven fell unseen， a quarter-moon，

　　promised， was no show，

　　ditto the rain. Late August of '50，

　　NYC， the long summer of abundance

　　and our new war. In the mirror behind

　　the bar， the spirits imitating you

　　stared at themselves. At the bar

　　the tenor player up from Philly， shut

　　his eyes and whispered to no one，

　　"Same thing last night." Everyone

　　been coming all week long

　　to hear this. The big brown bass

　　sighed and slumped against

　　the piano， the cymbals held

　　their dry cheeks and stopped

　　chicking and chucking. You went

　　back to drinking and ignored

　　the unignorable. When the door

　　swung open it was Pettiford

　　in work clothes， midnight suit，

　　starched shirt， narrow black tie，

　　spit shined shoes， as ready

　　as he'd ever be. Eyebrows

　　raised， the Irish bartender

　　shook his head， so Pettiford eased

　　himself down at an empty table，

　　closed up his Herald Tribune，

　　and shook his head. Did the TV

　　come on， did the jukebox bring us

　　Dinah Washington， did the stars

　　keep their appointments， did the moon

　　show， quartered or full， sprinkling

　　its soft light down? The night's

　　still there， just where it was， just

　　where it'll always be without

　　its music. You're still there too

　　holding your breath. Bud walked out.