關於愛情的著名英文詩
詩歌用優美的形式表達思想、傳遞情感,詩可以詠志,詩可以言情,詩可以表意。詩歌之所以具有如此大的力量,就在於其能夠引起人的審美愉悅感,喚起欣賞者強烈的情感共鳴。小編整理了，歡迎閱讀!
篇一
Mirabeau Bridge
by Guillaume Apollinaire ***Translated by Donald Revell***
Under Mirabeau Bridge the river slips away
And lovers
Must I be reminded
Joy came always after pain
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
We're face to face and hand in hand
While under the bridges
Of embrace expire
Eternal tired tidal eyes
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
Love elapses like the river
Love goes by
Poor life is indolent
And expectation always violent
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
The days and equally the weeks elapse
The past remains the past
Love remains lost
Under Mirabeau Bridge the river slips away
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I
篇二
Minor Miracle
by Marilyn Nelson
Which reminds me of another knock-on-wood
memory. I was cycling with a male friend，
through a small midwestern town. We came to a 4-way
stop and stopped， chatting. As we started again，
a rusty old pick-up truck， ignoring the stop sign，
hurricaned past scant inches from our front wheels.
My partner called， "Hey， that was a 4-way stop!"
The truck driver， stringy blond hair a long fringe
under his brand-name beer cap， looked back and yelled，
"You fucking niggers!"
And sped off.
My friend and I looked at each other and shook our heads.
We remounted our bikes and headed out of town.
We were pedaling through a clear blue afternoon
between two fields of almost-ripened wheat
bordered by cornflowers and Queen Anne's lace
when we heard an unmuffled motor， a honk-honking.
We stopped， closed ranks， made fists.
It was the same truck. It pulled over.
A tall， very much in shape young white guy slid out：
greasy jeans， homemade finger tattoos， probably
a Marine Corps boot-camp footlockerful
of martial arts techniques.
"What did you say back there!" he shouted.
My friend said， "I said it was a 4-way stop.
You went through it."
"And what did I say?" the white guy asked.
"You said： 'You fucking niggers.'"
The afternoon froze.
"Well，" said the white guy，
shoving his hands into his pockets
and pushing dirt around with the pointed toe of his boot，
"I just want to say I'm sorry."
He climbed back into his truck and drove away
篇三
Miracle Ice Cream
by Adrienne Rich
Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue，
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls，
and， yes， you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.
Take what's still given： in a room's rich shadow
a woman's breasts swinging lightly as she bends.
Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.
Late， you sit weighing the evening news，
fast-food miracles， ghostly revolutions，
the rest of your heart.
篇四
Misconceptions of Childhoodby Celia Bland
My father was a sidewise Jack，
always in profile， a hand on his rod.
His pack was a Destroyer， said my mother，
where he played ping-pong on
the deck， two fingers flat on his spade.
I saw his photo： a big-bellied dick
in a tailor-made sailor suit.
"Bye-Bye!" he waved， and out I
sprang， strong enough
to shove all the drawers shut.
My teeth took root. White
stalagmites， their stems sunk inward
and rotted. Biting strawberries，
they sheared unripe heads from
luscious tips.
The leaves caused a rash.
My mouth's toes， St. Theresa，
grind with your hips
when you close your eyes. Sex is
sacred， you say.
Leaving me， to prove it.