關於大學英文詩歌朗誦稿
英語詩歌是英美文學中的珍寶。在英美文學中,尤其是早期作品中,如史詩及戲劇都是以詩歌的形式出現。欣賞英語詩歌是英語學習的重要部分。小編精心收集了，供大家欣賞學習!
篇1
The Ship
by William Logan
The sunlight burned like wire on the water，
that morning the ghost ship drove upriver.
The only witness was a Jersey cow.
Florid and testy， a miniature industrialist，
the steam tug spouted its fiery plume of smoke，
and on the bank the dead trout lolled，
beyond the reach of the fishermen now.
From a distance the fish lay sprawled like sailors
after a great sea battle， the masts and spars
splintered like matchsticks on the water; the mist
hovering over inlets， cannon-smoke drifting
off the now-purple， now-green bloom of river.
In shadow a train inched across a brick viaduct
ruling the still-dark valley，
as aqueducts once bullied the dawn campagna.
The cows resented the Cincinnatus patriot，
knowing they too were bred for slaughter.
The morning was a painting： the battered warship
hung with dawn lights like a chestful of medals，
the barren canvas of the Thames， empty out of respect，
the steam tug beetling to the breaker's yard.
The sun lay on the horizon like a vegetable.
篇2
The Shield of Achilles
by W. H. Auden
She looked over his shoulder
For vines and olive trees，
Marble well-governed cities
And ships upon untamed seas，
But there on the shining metal
His hands had put instead
An artificial wilderness
And a sky like lead.
A plain without a feature， bare and brown，
No blade of grass， no sign of neighborhood，
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down，
Yet， congregated on its blankness， stood
An unintelligible multitude，
A million eyes， a million boots in line，
Without expression， waiting for a sign.
Out of the air a voice without a face
Proved by statistics that some cause was just
In tones as dry and level as the place：
No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;
Column by column in a cloud of dust
They marched away enduring a belief
Whose logic brought them， somewhere else， to grief.
She looked over his shoulder
For ritual pieties，
White flower-garlanded heifers，
Libation and sacrifice，
But there on the shining metal
Where the altar should have been，
She saw by his flickering forge-light
Quite another scene.
Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot
Where bored officials lounged ***one cracked a joke***
And sentries sweated for the day was hot：
A crowd of ordinary decent folk
Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke
As three pale figures were led forth and bound
To three posts driven upright in the ground.
The mass and majesty of this world， all
That carries weight and always weighs the same
Lay in the hands of others; they were small
And could not hope for help and no help came：
What their foes like to do was done， their shame
Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride
And died as men before their bodies died.
She looked over his shoulder
For athletes at their games，
Men and women in a dance
Moving their sweet limbs
Quick， quick， to music，
But there on the shining shield
His hands had set no dancing-floor
But a weed-choked field.
A ragged urchin， aimless and alone，
Loitered about that vacancy; a bird
Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone：
That girls are raped， that two boys knife a third，
Were axioms to him， who'd never heard
Of any world where promises were kept，
Or one could weep because another wept.
The thin-lipped armorer，
Hephaestos， hobbled away，
Thetis of the shining breasts
Cried out in dismay
At what the god had wrought
To please her son， the strong
Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles
Who would not live long.
篇3
The Silence
by Philip Schultz
You always called late and drunk，
your voice luxurious with pain，
I， tightly wrapped in dreaming，
listening as if to a ghost.
Tonight a friend called to say your body
was found in your apartment， where
it had lain for days. You'd lost your job，
stopped writing， saw nobody for weeks.
Your heart， he said. Drink had destroyed you.
We met in a college town， first teaching jobs，
poems flowing from a grief we enshrined
with myth and alcohol. I envied the way
women looked at you， a bear blunt with rage，
tearing through an ever-darkening wood.
Once we traded poems like photos of women
whose beauty tested God's faith. 'Read this one
about how friendship among the young can't last，
it will rip your heart out of your chest!'
Once you called to say J was leaving，
the pain stuck in your throat like a razor blade.
A woman was calling me back to bed
so I said I'd call back. But I never did.
The deep forlorn smell of moss and pine
behind your stone house， you strumming
and singing Lorca， Vallejo， De Andrade，
as if each syllable tasted of blood，
as if you had all the time in the world. . .
You knew your angels loved you
but you also knew they would leave
someone they could not save.
篇4
Cherries in the Snow
by Richard Jones
My mother never appeared in public
without lipstick. If we were going out，
I'd have to wait by the door until
she painted her lips and turned
from the hallway mirror，
put on her gloves and picked up her purse，
opening the purse to see
if she'd remembered tissues.
After lunch in a restaurant
she might ask，
"Do I need lipstick?"
If I said yes，
she would discretely turn
and refresh her faded lips.
Opening the black and gold canister，
she'd peer in a round compact
as if she were looking into another world.
Then she'd touch her lips to a tissue.
Whenever I went searching
in her coat pocket or purse
for coins or candy
I'd find， crumpled， those small white tissues
covered with bloodred kisses.
I'd slip them into my pocket，
along with the stones and feathers
I thought， back then， I'd keep.