英语诗歌是一个包含丰富社会生活内容、语言艺术和文化内涵的世界,是基础英语教学的一块很有潜力的教学资源。小编整理了关于最经典的英文诗，欢迎阅读!
关于最经典的英文诗篇一
Love is More Thicker than Forget
by E. E. Cummings
Love is more thicker than forget
More thinner than recall
More seldom than a wave is wet
More frequent than to fail
It is most mad and moonly
And less it shall unbe
Than all the sea which only
Is deeper than the sea
Love is Iess always than to win
Less never than alive
Less bigger than the least begin
Less littler than forgive
It is most sane and sunly
And more it cannot die
Than all the sky which only
Is higher than the sky
爱情比忘却更深厚
爱情比忘却厚
比回忆薄
比潮湿的波浪少
比失败多
它最痴癫最疯狂
但比起所有
比海洋更深的海洋
它更为长久
爱情总比胜利少见
却比活着多些
不大于无法开始
不小于谅解
它最明朗最清醒
而比起所有
比天空更高的天空
它更为不朽
关于最经典的英文诗篇二
Skunk Hour
By Robert Lowell
(For Elizabeth Bishop)
Nautilus Island's hermit
heiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage;
her sheep still graze above the sea.
Her son's a bishop. Her farmer
is first selectman in our village;
she's in her dotage.
Thirsting for
the hierarchie privacy
of Queen Victoria's century,
she buys up all
the eyesores facing her shore,
and lets them fall.
The season's ill--
we've lost our summer millionaire,
who seemed to leap from an L. L. Bean
catalogue. His nine-knot yawl
was auctioned off to lobstermen.
A red fox stain covers Blue Hill.
And now our fairy
decorator brightens his shop for fall;
his fishnet's filled with orange cork,
orange, his cobbler's bench and awl;
there is no money in his work,
he'd rather marry.
One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.
A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--
only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.
They march on their soles up Main Street:
white stripes, moonstruck eyes' red fire
under the chalk-dry and spar spire
of the Trinitarian Church.
I stand on top
of our back steps and breathe the rich air--
a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail.
She jabs her wedge-head in a cup
of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail,
and will not scare.
臭鼬的时光
为伊丽莎白·毕肖普而作
鹦鹉螺岛的隐士
女继承人整个冬天仍住在她的斯巴达式小屋;
她的羊群仍在海的北面啃食牧草。
她的儿子是主教。我们村里的第一任村长
是她的农场主;
她已年老糊涂。
渴望
维多利亚女王时
那种等级森严的清静闲适
她买下了全部
对岸看不顺眼的地方，
任其荒芜。
这季节令人讨厌—
我们失去了夏天的百万富翁，
他仿佛是从一个廉价货目单上突然跳出。
他那速度可达九节的快艇
拍卖给了一个捕虾的人。
红褐色斑点布满蓝山。
如今我们那仙子般的装饰家
为秋天他把古玩店扮靓;
他的渔网挂满橘黄色的浮子，
鞋匠的凳子和锥子也漆成橘黄;
他干活却挣不了工资，
他不如去成家。
一个漆黑的夜晚，
我的都铎式福特车爬上山头;
我留意着爱情车。灯暗了下来，
他们停泊在一起，头挨着头，
像废旧汽车垃圾场在市镇边层层布排….
我的神志不安。
一辆车中的收音机在咩叫，
“爱情，啊，轻率的爱情….”我听到
我那染病的魂灵在每个血细胞中哽咽无语
仿佛我的手卡住了心灵的咽喉…
我自已就是地狱;
无人在这里—
只有臭鼬，在月光下面
寻觅一口食物充饥。
他们独自在大街上行进整齐：
白条纹，迷离的眼神冒着炽热的光
在三一教堂
那冷冰冰的白垩色圆柱形的尖顶下面。
我站在我家后门台阶的顶端
吸入浓烈的空气—
一只母鼬带着一群小臭鼬贪婪地在垃圾桶里吸食，
她把楔形脑袋插进一个酸乳酪杯子里面，
垂下她鸵鸟似的尾巴，
什么也不怕。
关于最经典的英文诗篇三
After Apple-Picking
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
摘苹果之后
罗伯特•弗罗斯特(1874-1963)
王道余 译
我那长长的双柱梯子穿过一棵树
还在指向天堂，
有一只桶就在一旁
我还没有装满;而在树枝某处，
也许还有没摘的两三个苹果。
但摘苹果这活儿算告一段落。
夜晚已经弥漫着冬眠的气息，
苹果的香味：我正在昏昏欲睡。
我今天早上从饮水槽里捞起
一大块的玻璃。透过这块东西
我把这草枯霜冻的世界琢磨;
我视线里是挥之不去的怪异。
冰化了，我让它掉下、摔在地上。
但我其实
在它掉下之前就已渐有睡意，
我也明知
我的梦境会是什么样的形状。
巨大苹果，这边浮现，那边淡出，
有蒂的一端，有花的一端，
每个红褐色的斑点都很清楚。
我的脚弓不仅还残留着痛伤，
它也残留着梯子横杠的挤压。
树枝一弯，我能感到梯子一偏。
我还不断听到地窖里有声音
轰轰作响
那是一筐一筐的苹果在送进。
因为我摘苹果
已经摘得太多：我已累得太过
因自己曾经期望的巨大收获。
有十万万只水果需要我去摸
手里小心握，扯落，但不能松掉。
只要
砸到地皮，
不管是否碰伤，不管是否刺破，
肯定要归到用来造酒的那堆，
似乎一钱不值。
谁都能看出这次睡眠，我
会有什么麻烦，无论它是哪种睡眠。
如果他还在，
土拨鼠能说出这会不会有点
像他的长眠，如上所述般袭来，
抑或只是人的安睡?
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