优美的英语现代诗歌欣赏

优美的英语现代诗歌欣赏

诗歌欣赏一：

Batuschka

From yonder gilded minaret

Beside the steel-blue Neva set

，

I faintly catch

，

from time to time

，

The sweet

，

aerial midnight chime

——

Above the ravelins and the moats

Of the white citadel it floats;

And men in dungeons far beneath

Listen

，

and pray

，

and gnash their teeth

——

The soft reiterations sweep

Across the horror of their sleep

，

a term of endearment applied

to the Tsar in Russian folk- song.

As if some daemon in his glee

Were mocking at their misery

——

In his Red Palace over there

，

Wakeful

，

he needs must hear the prayer.

How can it drown the broken cries

Wrung from his children's agonies?

——

Father they called him from of old

——

Batuschka! . . . How his heart is cold!

Wait till a million scourged men

Rise in their awful might

，

and then

——

God save the Tsar!

诗歌欣赏二：

Camma

Camma

(To Ellen Terry)

As one who poring on a Grecian urn

Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made

，

God with slim goddess

，

goodly man with maid

，

And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn

And face the obvious day

，

must I not yearn

For many a secret moon of indolent bliss

，

When in midmost shrine of Artemis

I see thee standing

，

antique- limbed

，

and stern?

And yet - methinks I'd rather see thee play

That serpent of old Nile

，

whose witchery

Made Emperors drunken

，

- come

，

great Egypt

，

shake

Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay

，

I am grown sick of unreal passions

，

make

The world thine Actium

，

me thine Anthony!

诗歌欣赏三：

A Prayer for My Son

Bid a strong ghost stand at the head

That my Michael may sleep sound

，

Nor cry

，

nor turn in the bed

Till his morning meal come round;

And may departing twilight keep

All dread afar till morning‘s back，

That his mother may not lack

Her fill of sleep.

Bid the ghost have sword in fist

：

Some there are

，

for I avow

Such devilish things e inates the crazed spider web

of the windshield. His bloody tongue burns

with a slurry gospel. Around me

，

the lights go down

，

the way death is described

as armor crashing to the ground

，

the soul having already departed

for another place. Was it his body I heard

leaning against the horn

，

the body's final song

，

before the body

slumped sideways in the seat?

When I was a child

，

I would wake at night

and imagine a field of asteroids

，

rolling

across the walls of my room.

In fact

，

I've seen them

，

like the last herd of buffalo

，

grazing against the background of fixed stars.

Plate 420 shows the asteroid 433 Eros

，

the bright point of light

，

as it closes its approach

to light. I loose myself in Cygnus

，

ancient kamikaze swan

，

rising or diving to earth

，