英语诗歌是英语语言与文学的精华。开展英语诗歌教学能提高学生英语语言基础知识水平、写作水平,有助于学生西方历史文化的学习,提高学生的想象力,也有助于对学生的道德教育。小编精心收集了关于最经典优美的英文诗歌，供大家欣赏学习!

关于最经典优美的英文诗歌篇1

Portrait of Madame Monet on Her Deathbed

by Mary Rose O'Reilley

Monet confided to his journal， "All the while she was dying， I could not stop painting her face."

—Monet at Vétheuil

He will paint her again as grain;

now she is fog

the chantilly fog of the Seine：

avoiding no hint of the slow dissolve，

the bandage around her jaw，

rigor's cramp at the lip，

how death abraded and hollowed her，

while he remembered light.

Had he a failed heart

or a wholly transfigured eye

that knew her tonight as water

convulsion and sky?

that stared through layers of the body

at more than it took to die?

关于最经典优美的英文诗歌篇2

On a Line from Valéry (The Gulf War)

by Carolyn Kizer

The whole green sky is dying. The last tree flares

With a great burst of supernatural rose

Under a canopy of poisonous airs.

Could we imagine our return to prayers

To end in time before time's final throes，

The green sky dying as the last tree flares?

But we were young in judgement， old in years

Who could make peace; but it was war we chose，

To spread its canopy of poisoning airs.

Not all our children's pleas and women's fears

Could steer us from this hell. And now God knows

His whole green sky is dying as it flares.

Our crops of wheat have turned to fields of tares.

This dreadful century staggers to its close

And the sky dies for us， its poisoned heirs.

All rain was dust. Its granules were our tears.

Throats burst as universal winter rose

To kill the whole green sky， the last tree bare

Beneath its canopy of poisoned air.

关于最经典优美的英文诗歌篇3

Portrait of God on Work Release

by Peter Jay Shippy

I walk in the park and select a maple leaf.

With my Sharpie I write：YOU ARE HERE.

Carefully， I place the leaf back where I found it.

关于最经典优美的英文诗歌篇4

On a Night Like This

by Michael Teig

When he couldn't sleep and his sight got going

he noted the colors on the back of each painting;

this one forest blue， that gunpowder，

one blue to make the yellow tell，

and one bluer than that.

Certain nights only the rain will have

its say， troubling the downspout.

When morning came

he chose a white shirt

(they're all white) and followed the buttons down.

At least he says there is Billie Holiday

and the plants bring every green with them.

When I make his breakfast， the bed，

sweep the house out with a broom，

he stands by the window longer than one should.

I know he believes in progress

even if it's the kind you can't see.

When his sons grew tall and remote

and moved to cities he'd barely heard of，

he talked to them on Sundays.

Though perhaps it's too late

a silk rose in his lapel.

When I came back some nights

I saw him caught beneath a streetlamp

talking with the girl he loved turning his palm over

like a phrase he couldn't remember.

I saw the night come down around them one hand turning

and how she turned in the dark

and smiled， blue scarf on her head，

blue dog at her feet， blue attic between the stars.

关于最经典优美的英文诗歌篇5

On Becoming a Poet in the 1950s

by Stephen Beal

There was love and there was trees.

Either you could stay inside and probe your emotions

or you could go outside and keenly observe nature.

Describe the sheen on carapaces，

the effect of breeze on grass.

What's the fag doing now? Dad would say.

Picking the nose of his heart?

Wanking off on a daffodil?

He's not homosexual， Mom would retort， using her apron as a potholder to

remove the apple brown betty from the oven.

He's sensitive. He cares.

He wishes to impart values and standards to an indifferent world.

Wow! said Dad， stomping off to the pantry for another scotch. Two poets in

the family. Ain't I a lucky duck?

As fate would have it， I became one of your tweedy English teachers， what

Dad would call a daffodil-wanker，

and Mom ended up doing needlepoint， seventy-two kneelers for St. Fred's

before she expired of the heart broken on the afternoon that Dad

roared off with the Hell's Angels.

We heard a little from Big Sur. A beard. Tattoos. A girlfriend named Strawberry.

A boyfriend named Thor.

Bars and pot and coffeehouses， stuff like that.

After years of quotation by younger poets， admiration but no real notice，

Dad is making the anthologies now.

Critics cite his primal rage， the way he nails Winnetka.