诗歌本身包含的丰富社会生活内容和艺术内涵,诗歌语言的独特的美与和谐都使它们具有无穷的魅力,所以凡学习英语文学的人都会情不自禁要对英语诗歌倾注特别的热情和关注。小编精心收集了关于英文诗歌，供大家欣赏学习!

关于英文诗歌篇1

Olympia

by Henri Cole

Tired， hungry， hot， I climbed the steep slope

to town， a sultry， watery place， crawling with insects and birds.

In the semidarkness of the mountain，

small things loomed large： a donkey urinating on a palm;

a salt-and-saliva-stained boy riding on his mother's back;

a shy roaming black Adam. I was walking on an edge.

The moments fused into one crystalline rock，

like ice in a champagne bucket. Time was plunging forward，

like dolphins scissoring open water or like me，

following Jenny's flippers down to see the coral reef，

where the color of sand， sea and sky merged，

and it was as if that was all God wanted：

not a wife， a house or a position，

but a self， like a needle， pushing in a vein.

关于英文诗歌篇2

Old English riddle

by Anonymous

My dress is silent when I tread the ground

Or stay at home or stir upon the waters.

Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air

Raise me above the dwelling-place of men，

And then the power of clouds carries me far

Above the people; and my ornaments

Loudly resound， send forth a melody

And clearly sing， when I am not in touch

With earth or water， but a flying spirit.

关于英文诗歌篇3

Porch Swing in September

by Ted Kooser

The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun

that bleaches its gray slats， its flowered cushion

whose flowers have faded， like those of summer，

and a small brown spider has hung out her web

on a line between porch post and chain

so that no one may swing without breaking it.

She is saying it‘s time that the swinging were done with，

time that the creaking and pinging and popping

that sang through the ceiling were past，

time now for the soft vibrations of moths，

the wasp tapping each board for an entrance，

the cool dewdrops to brush from her work

every morning， one world at a time

关于英文诗歌篇4

Portrait in Georgia

by Jean Toomer

Hair——braided chestnut，

coiled like a lyncher's rope，

Eyes——fagots，

Lips——old scars， or the first red blisters，

Breath——the last sweet scent of cane，

And her slim body， white as the ash of black flesh after flame.

关于英文诗歌篇5

On 52nd Street

by Philip Levine

Down sat Bud， raised his hands，

the Deuces silenced， the lights

lowered， and breath gathered

for the coming storm. Then nothing，

not a single note. Outside starlight

from heaven fell unseen， a quarter-moon，

promised， was no show，

ditto the rain. Late August of '50，

NYC， the long summer of abundance

and our new war. In the mirror behind

the bar， the spirits imitating you

stared at themselves. At the bar

the tenor player up from Philly， shut

his eyes and whispered to no one，

"Same thing last night." Everyone

been coming all week long

to hear this. The big brown bass

sighed and slumped against

the piano， the cymbals held

their dry cheeks and stopped

chicking and chucking. You went

back to drinking and ignored

the unignorable. When the door

swung open it was Pettiford

in work clothes， midnight suit，

starched shirt， narrow black tie，

spit shined shoes， as ready

as he'd ever be. Eyebrows

raised， the Irish bartender

shook his head， so Pettiford eased

himself down at an empty table，

closed up his Herald Tribune，

and shook his head. Did the TV

come on， did the jukebox bring us

Dinah Washington， did the stars

keep their appointments， did the moon

show， quartered or full， sprinkling

its soft light down? The night's

still there， just where it was， just

where it'll always be without

its music. You're still there too

holding your breath. Bud walked out.