诗歌是人类的语言瑰宝,可以提高人的精神修养、艺术修养和语言修养。小编整理了超级经典的英文诗歌，欢迎阅读!

超级经典的英文诗歌篇一

Stone Bird

by Pattiann Rogers

I remember you. You‘re the one

who lifted your ancient bones

of fossil rock， pulled yourself free

of the strata like a plaster figure

rising from its own mold， became

flesh and feather， took wing，

arrested the sky.

You‘re the one who， though marble，

floated as beautifully as a white

blossom on the pond all summer，

who， though skeletal and particled

like winter， glimmered as solid as a bird

of cut crystal in the icy trees.

You are redbird—sandstone

wings and agate eyes—at dusk.

You are greybird—polished granite

and pearl eyes—just before dawn，

midnight bird with a reflective

vacancy of heart like a mirror

of pure obsidian.

You‘re the one who flew down

to that river from the heavens，

as if your form alone were the only

holy message needed. You were alabaster

then in the noonday sun.

Once I saw you rise without rising

from your prison pedestal

in the garden beneath the lime tree.

At that moment your ghost

in its haunting permeated every

regality of the forest with light，

reigned with disdain in thin air

above the mountain， sank in union

with the crosswinds of the sea.

I remember you. You‘re the one

who entered in through my death

as if it were an open window

and you were the sound of the serenade

being sung outside for me， the words

of which， I know now， are of freedom

cast in stone forever.

超级经典的英文诗歌篇二

Such a Good Dancer

by Douglas Goetsch

Desperate to be part of the night，

we jerked like a bunch of spazzes

to that screaming eunuch， Michael Jackson.

Randi Muelbach kept remarking

You're such a good dancer!

drawing closer， letting me grab her

saggy ass. My boogying was a sort

of two-step hip gyration while holding

my plastic cup of grain alcohol level.

I had perfected the arm that remained still，

kept it out like a bird feeder. Randi

glued elbows to waist and swung

forearms， hands and hips furiously.

She was sweating something fierce.

Her perfume was foul swamp flowers.

From the futon on her floor I watched

her pull her dress over her head.

Fat and sadly flat-chested，

legs already bluing with veins， thick

knees knocked in， the way the back

wheels of a Volkswagen buckle with a load.

Disgusted with myself——two years

in college and still a virgin——I would

stick my dick in a girl and end that.

As she stepped out of her underwear

I said， After tonight I don't want us

to ever talk again. OK?

That's what I said.

She looked down at me and said

Sure， like it was nothing.

Through the cinderblock walls

I could hear that whole dorm writhing

on a Saturday night. Even Kim Putnam，

the born again who wore only long skirts

and was losing her hair， was getting banged

and moaning like a wild woman.

Sometimes it sounded like a crowd

ooh-ing and ahh-ing at a car accident;

sometimes I heard the night as one fuck

xeroxed and traveling room to room

like a rumor， or luck——good or bad，

either way， I wriggled and fought

on top of Randi Muelbach，

who kept whispering in my ear

Such a good dancer.

超级经典的英文诗歌篇三

Summer Holiday

by Robinson Jeffers

When the sun shouts and people abound

One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of

bronze

And the iron age; iron the unstable metal;

Steel made of iron， unstable as his mother; the tow-

ered-up cities

Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.

Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time， kind rains

will cure them，

Then nothing will remain of the iron age

And all these people but a thigh-bone or so， a poem

Stuck in the world's thought， splinters of glass

In the rubbish dumps， a concrete dam far off in the

mountain……

超级经典的英文诗歌篇四

Suicide of a Moderate Dictator

by Elizabeth Bishop

This is a day when truths will out， perhaps;

leak from the dangling telephone earphones

sapping the festooned switchboards' strength;

fall from the windows， blow from off the sills，

—the vague， slight unremarkable contents

of emptying ash-trays; rub off on our fingers

like ink from the un-proof-read newspapers，

crocking the way the unfocused photographs

of crooked faces do that soil our coats，

our tropical-wight coats， like slapped-at moths.

Today's a day when those who work

are idling. Those who played must work

and hurry， too， to get it downe，

with little dignity or none.

The newspapers are sold; the kiosk shutters

crash down. But anyway， in the night

the headlines wrote themselves， see， on the streets

and sidewalks everywhere; a sediment's splashed

even to the first floors of apartment houses.

This is a day that's beautiful as well，

warm and clear. At seven o'clock I saw

the dogs being walked along the famous beach

as usual， in a shiny gray-green dawn，

leaving their paw prints draining in the wet.

The line of breakers was steady and the pinkish，

segmented rainbow steadily hung above it.

At eight， two little boys were flying kites.