六首英文诗歌欣赏
诗歌欣赏：Elegy on Thyrza
AND thou art dead as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth；
And form so soft and charms so rare
Too soon return'd to Earth！
Though Earth received them in her bed
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look．
I will not ask where thou liest low
Nor gaze upon the spot；
There flowers or weeds at will may grow
So I behold them not：
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved and long must love
Like common earth can rot；
To me there needs no stone to tell
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well．
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou
Who didst not change through all the past
And canst not alter now．
The love where Death has set his seal
Nor age can chill nor rival steal
Nor falsehood disavow；
And what were worse thou canst not see
Or wrong or change or fault in me．
The better days of life were ours
The worst can be but mine；
The sun that cheers the storm that lours
Shall never more be thine．
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep；
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away
I might have watch'd through long decay．
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey；
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd．
The leaves must drop away．
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering leaf by leaf
Than see it pluck'd to－day；
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair．
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade；
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade．
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd
And thou wert lovely to the last
Extinguish'd not decay'd；
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high．
As once I wept if I could weep
My tears might well be shed
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed—
To gaze how fondly！ on thy face
To fold thee in a faint embrace
Uphold thy drooping head
And show that love however vain
Nor thou nor I can feel again．
Yet how much less it were to gain
Though thou hast left me free
The loveliest things that still remain
Than thus remember thee！
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread eternity
Returns again to me
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years．
诗歌欣赏：Epitaph on a Tyrant
by W． H． Auden
Perfection， of a kind， was what he was after，
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand；
He knew human folly like the back of his hand，
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets；
When he laughed， respectable senators burst with laughter，
And when he cried the little children died in the streets．
诗歌欣赏：English poem，Every Day
Every day I need you Lord
But this day especially，
I need some extra strength
To face what ever is to be．
This day more than any day
I need to feel you near，
To fortify my courage
And to overcome my fear．
By myself，I cannot meet
The challenge of the hour，
There are times when humans help，
But we need a higher power
To assist us bear what must be borne，
and so dear Lord，I pray
Hold on to my trembling hand
And be near me today．
诗歌欣赏:A noiseless patient spider
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated，
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding，
It launch'd forth filament， filament， filament， out of itself，
Ever unreeling them， ever tirelessly speeding them．
And you O my soul where you stand，
Surrounded， detached， in measureless oceans of space，
Ceaselessly musing， venturing， throwing， seeking the spheres to connect them，
Till the bridge you will need be form'd， till the ductile anchor hold，
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere， O my soul．
诗歌欣赏：Epistle from Mrs.Yonge to Her Husband
by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
Think not this paper comes with vain pretense
To move your pity， or to mourn th' offense．
Too well I know that hard obdurate heat；
No softening mercy there will take my part，
Nor can a woman's arguments prevail，
When even your patron's wise example fails．
But this last privilege I still retain；
Th' oppressed and injured always may complain
Too， too severely laws of honor bind
The weak submissive sex of womankind．
If sighs have gained or force compelled our hand，
Deceived by art， or urged by stern command，
Whatever motive binds the fatal tie，
The judging world expects our constancy．
Just heaven！ （for sure in heaven does justice reign，
Though tricks below that sacred name profane）
To you appealing I submit my cause，
Nor fear a judgment from impartial laws．
All bargains but conditional are made；
The purchase void， the creditor unpaid；
Defrauded servants are from service free；
A wounded slave regains his liberty．
For wives ill used no remedy remains，
To daily racks condemned， and to eternal chains．
From whence is this unjust distinction grown?
Are we not formed with passions like your own?
Nature with equal fire our souls endued，
Our minds as haughty， and as warm as our blood；
O'er the wide world your pleasures you pursue，
The change is justified by something new；
But we must sigh in silence——and be true．
Our sex's weakness you expose and blame
（Of every prattling fop the common theme），
Yet from this weakness you suppose is due
Sublimer virtue that your Cato knew．
Had heaven designed us trials so severe，
It would have formed our tempers then to bear．
And I have borne （oh what have I not borne！）
The pang of jealousy， the insults of scorn．
Wearied at length， I from your sight remove，
And place my future hopes in secret love．
In the gay bloom of glowing youth retired，
I quit the woman's joy to be admired，
With that small pension your hard heart allows，
Renounce your fortune， and release your vows．
To custom （though unjust） so much is due；
I hide my frailty from the public view．
My conscience clear， yet sensible of shame，
My life I hazard， to preserve my fame．
And I prefer this low inglorious state
To vile dependence on the thing I hate——
But you pursue me to this last retreat．
Dragged into light， my tender crime is shown
And every circumstance of fondness known．
Beneath the shelter of the law you stand，
And urge my ruin with a cruel hand，
While to my fault thus rigidly severe，
Tamely submissive to the man you fear．
This wretched outcast， this abandoned wife，
Has yet this joy to sweeten shameful life：
By your mean conduct， infamously loose，
You are at once my accuser and excuse．
Let me be damned by the censorious prude
（Stupidly dull， or spiritually lewd），
My hapless case will surely pity find
From every just and reasonable mind．
When to the final sentence I submit，
The lips condemn me， but their souls acquit．
No more my husband， to your pleasures go，
The sweets of your recovered freedom know．
Go： court the brittle friendship of the great，
Smile at his board， or at his levee wait；
And when dismissed， to madam's toilet fly，
More than her chambermaids， or glasses， lie，
Tell her how young she looks， how heavenly fair，
Admire the lilies and the roses there．
Your high ambition may be gratified，
Some cousin of her own be made your bride，
And you the father of a glorious race
Endowed with Ch——l's strength and Low——r's face．
诗歌欣赏：Epitaph X
by Thomas Heise
My birthright I have traded for a petal dress
and a summer eulogy． I have pawned my soul
for this opal ring， the color of a pale， taxidermied eye．
If I could carry calla lilies on my shoulder once more
like an umbrella in daylight， I would lean them
on the cemetery gate and sleep until the groundskeeper found me．
For some of us， beauty is carcinoma．
The saint‘s stigmata is god’s rose， bestowed
for forgoing a human lover， who will， of course， die．
I died last year． My mother made her tears into crystal
earrings and clipped them to my ears． “Son， you will
pay for your sin，“ my father spoke from his throne of glass．
Stars burn a sharp， white nacre until they evaporate．
The moon‘s flamingo unfolds her iodine wings over the broken city．
My necropolis． My teeth are the fruit of your olive tree．
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