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……