外國愛情詩歌英文

　　在國外，都有哪些英文詩歌和愛情有關呢?下面是小編整理的以供大家閱讀。

　　外國愛情詩歌英文***一***

　　Our game was his but yesteryear;

　　We wished him back; we could not know

　　The self-same hour we missed him here

　　He led the line that broke the foe.

　　Blood-red behind our guarded posts

　　Sank as of old and dying day;

　　The battle ceased; the mingled hosts

　　Weary and cheery went their way：

　　"To-morrow well may bring，" we said，

　　"As fair a fight， as clear a sun."

　　Dear Lad， before the world was sped，

　　For evermore thy goal was won.

　　***二***

　　It was eight bells ringing，

　　For the morning watch was done，

　　And the gunner's lads were singing

　　As they polished every gun.

　　It was eight bells ringing，

　　And the gunner's lads were singing，

　　For the ship she rode a-swinging，

　　As they polished every gun.

　　Oh! to see the linstock lighting，

　　Téméraire! Téméraire!

　　Oh! to hear the round shot biting，

　　Téméraire! Téméraire!

　　Oh! to see the linstock lighting，

　　And to hear the round shot biting，

　　For we're all in love with fighting

　　On the fighting Téméraire.

　　It was noontide ringing，

　　And the battle just begun，

　　When the ship her way was winging，

　　As they loaded every gun.

　　It was noontide ringing，

　　When the ship her way was winging，

　　And the gunner's lads were singing

　　As they loaded every gun.

　　There'll be many grim and gory，

　　Téméraire! Téméraire!

　　There'll be few to tell the story，

　　Téméraire! Téméraire!

　　There'll be many grim and gory，

　　There'll be few to tell the story，

　　But we'll all be one in glory

　　With the Fighting Téméraire.

　　There's a far bell ringing

　　At the setting of the sun，

　　And a phantom voice is singing

　　Of the great days done.

　　There's a far bell ringing，

　　And a phantom voice is singing

　　Of renown for ever clinging

　　To the great days done.

　　Now the sunset breezes shiver，

　　Téméraire! Téméraire!

　　And she's fading down the river，

　　Téméraire! Téméraire!

　　Now the sunset's breezes shiver，

　　And she's fading down the river，

　　But in England's song for ever

　　She's the Fighting Téméraire.

　　***三***

　　I was out early to-day， spying about

　　From the top of a haystack —— such a lovely morning ——

　　And when I mounted again to canter back

　　I saw across a field in the broad sunlight

　　A young Gunner Subaltern， stalking along

　　With a rook-rifle held at the read， and —— would you believe it? ——

　　A domestic cat， soberly marching beside him.

　　So I laughed， and felt quite well disposed to the youngster，

　　And shouted out "the top of the morning" to him，

　　And wished him "Good sport!" —— and then I remembered

　　My rank， and his， and what I ought to be doing：

　　And I rode nearer， and added， "I can only suppose

　　You have not seen the Commander-in-Chief's order

　　Forbidding English officers to annoy their Allies

　　By hunting and shooting."

　　But he stood and saluted

　　And said earnestly， "I beg your pardon， Sir，

　　I was only going out to shoot a sparrow

　　To feed my cat with."

　　So there was the whole picture，

　　The lovely early morning， the occasional shell

　　Screeching and scattering past us， the empty landscape， ——

　　Empty， except for the young Gunner saluting，

　　And the cat， anxiously watching his every movement.

　　I may be wrong， or I may have told it badly，

　　But it struck me as being extremely ludicrous

　　***四***

　　I walk down the garden paths,

　　And all the daffodils

　　Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.

　　I walk down the patterned garden-paths

　　In my stiff, brocaded gown.

　　With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,

　　I too am a rare

　　Pattern. As I wander down

　　The garden paths.

　　My dress is richly figured,

　　And the train

　　Makes a pink and silver stain

　　On the gravel, and the thrift

　　Of the borders.

　　Just a plate of current fashion,

　　Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.

　　Not a softness anywhere about me,

　　Only whalebone and brocade.

　　And I sink on a seat in the shade

　　Of a lime tree. For my passion

　　Wars against the stiff brocade.

　　The daffodils and squills

　　Flutter in the breeze

　　As they please.

　　And I weep;

　　For the lime-tree is in blossom

　　And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

　　And the plashing of waterdrops

　　In the marble fountain

　　Comes down the garden-paths.

　　The dripping never stops.

　　Underneath my stiffened gown

　　Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,

　　A basin in the midst of hedges grown

　　So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,

　　But she guesses he is near,

　　And the sliding of the water

　　Seems the stroking of a dear

　　Hand upon her.

　　What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!

　　I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.

　　All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

　　I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the

　　paths,

　　And he would stumble after,

　　Bewildered by my laughter.

　　I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles

　　on his shoes.

　　I would choose

　　To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,

　　A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,

　　Till he caught me in the shade,

　　And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,

　　Aching, melting, unafraid.

　　With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,

　　And the plopping of the waterdrops,

　　All about us in the open afternoon --

　　I am very like to swoon

　　With the weight of this brocade,

　　For the sun sifts through the shade.

　　Underneath the fallen blossom

　　In my bosom,

　　Is a letter I have hid.

　　It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.

　　"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell

　　Died in action Thursday se'nnight."

　　As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,

　　The letters squirmed like snakes.

　　"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.

　　"No," I told him.

　　"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.

　　No, no answer."

　　And I walked into the garden,

　　Up and down the patterned paths,

　　In my stiff, correct brocade.

　　The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,

　　Each one.

　　I stood upright too,

　　Held rigid to the pattern

　　By the stiffness of my gown.

　　Up and down I walked,

　　Up and down.

　　In a month he would have been my husband.

　　In a month, here, underneath this lime,

　　We would have broke the pattern;

　　He for me, and I for him,

　　He as Colonel, I as Lady,

　　On this shady seat.

　　He had a whim

　　That sunlight carried blessing.

　　And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."

　　Now he is dead.

　　In Summer and in Winter I shall walk

　　Up and down

　　The patterned garden-paths

　　In my stiff, brocaded gown.

　　The squills and daffodils

　　Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.

　　I shall go

　　Up and down,

　　In my gown.

　　Gorgeously arrayed,

　　Boned and stayed.

　　And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace

　　By each button, hook, and lace.

　　For the man who should loose me is dead,

　　Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,

　　In a pattern called a war.

　　Christ! What are patterns for?

　　***五***

　　The Frst Encounter

　　The lyric lad intones under the moon

　　Can I have a chance to meet you, I croon

　　If it were a love from the love divine

　　I would cherish you, and cherish you fine

　　I read your solitude in your heart sole

　　I see your loneliness deep in your soul

　　If I were in my former life

　　A lilac in the rain

　　I drooped low, for you

　　If I were in my present life

　　A poplar in the wind

　　I stood high, for you

　　Should mountains have no peeks

　　Should terrains have no cracks

　　I would not part from you

　　初相遇

　　月下吟詩的少年

　　怎會讓我遇見你

　　若是上天的旨意

　　我會好好珍惜你

　　讀你的寂寞在心底

　　懂你的孤獨於魂裡

　　若前世我是

　　一株雨中的紫丁香

　　憂鬱，為你

　　若今世我是

　　一棵風中的小白楊

　　挺拔，為你

　　哪怕山無稜角

　　哪怕地無裂痕

　　也不與你別離