爱华网文学语言在很多情况下突破 语言 ,呈现自身的美学特征。作为高度凝练的文学语言的典型代表,诗歌更加注重追求一种特殊的审美或诗学效果。小编整理了关于优美的英文诗，欢迎阅读!
关于优美的英文诗篇一
The Path
by Emily Fragos
There is so little to go on： a pale
trembling hand as I stand over you，
my finger tracing the words on the page，
a foreign language you are learning
for a journey without me. You will do
fine， I say. You will wrap your tongue
around these sounds and be understood，
be given what you desire： a loaf of bread，
change for your money， an antique doll
with violent eyes. Paintings are hanging
on walls， behind glass， waiting for you
to admire them. Their plaintive beauty
will move through you and you will walk
back to your hotel through the park
I know well. I spent years there walking
its bridle path， a gray cat in my arms，
moving toward you， blind， in another life.
关于优美的英文诗篇二
Carrowmore
by Lucie Brock-Broido
All about Carrowmore the lambs
Were blotched blue， belonging.
They were waiting for carnage or
Snuff. This is why they are born
To begin with， to end.
Ruminants do not frighten
At anything——gorge in the soil， butcher
Noise， the mere graze of predators.
All about Carrowmore
The rain quells for three days.
I remember how cold I was， the botched
Job of traveling. And just so.
Wherever I went I came with me.
She buried her bone barrette
In the ground's woolly shaft.
A tear of her hair， an old gift
To the burnt other who went
First. My thick braid， my ornament——
My belonging I
Remember how cold I will be.
关于优美的英文诗篇三
Carrion Comfort
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Not， I'll not， carrion comfort， Despair， not feast on thee;
Not untwist——slack they may be——these last strands of man
In me ór， most weary， cry I can no more. I can;
Can something， hope， wish day come， not choose not to be.
But ah， but O thou terrible， why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan，
O in turns of tempest， me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee
and flee?
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie， sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil， that coil， since (seems) I kissed the rod，
Hand rather， my heart lo! lapped strength， stole joy， would laugh， chéer.
Cheer whom though? The hero whose heaven-handling flung me，
fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night，
that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
关于优美的英文诗篇四
The Pear
by Chad Davidson
It's the consistency of flesh that drives us，
how a pome ascends the stairs
of its origin. A boy shakes
pears down off the higher branches
as his friends scavenge underneath，
groping for the thing necks.
If you find yourself holding one，
hungry， if that's the word，
then you are testament
to what festers in its fattened lobe
like a ball of sugar bees.
Here is Augustine， his thin
fingers tearing into skin
that barely holds the pulp
around its core. Poised nudes
forever in their sunny chairs，
they await whatever plucking
comes. When they're eaten
with darkness plunging
always further into their hearts，
a few seeds ache then swell black
as appetite. Or as their profile
imitates a lover's falling
breasts， we take them in
as we do our own bodies，
as infants do， wanting anything
to give our wanting form.
关于优美的英文诗篇五
Catch a Little Rhymeby Eve Merriam
Once upon a time
I caught a little rhyme
I set it on the floor
but it ran right out the door
I chased it on my bicycle
but it melted to an icicle
I scooped it up in my hat
but it turned into a cat
I caught it by the tail
but it stretched into a whale
I followed it in a boat
but it changed into a goat
When I fed it tin and paper
it became a tall skyscraper
Then it grew into a kite
and flew far out of sight……
