英美典型诗歌鉴赏

Sonnet 18 (between1593-1609)

By William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d; But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning by John Donne As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls, to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

‘The breath goes now,’ and some say, ‘No:’

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

’Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears;

Men reckon what it did, and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers’ love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refin’d,

That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind,

Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if the’ other do.

And though it in the centre sit,

Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans, and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must

Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end, where I begun.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime, Y ou may forever tarry.

To His Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)

Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime.

We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

V aster than empires, and more slow;

An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast;

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart; For, Lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song: then worms shall try That long preserved virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust:

The grave's a fine and private place,

But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may,

And now, like amorous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour

Than languish in his slow-chapt power.

Let us roll all our strength and all

Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

The Tyger by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies,

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears And water’d heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

O MY Luve's like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June:

O my Luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly play'd in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 5

So deep in luve am I:

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 10

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my Luve, 15

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways

BY William Wordsworth

She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

—Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley I

1O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

2Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

3Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

4Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

5Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,

6Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

7The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

8Each like a corpse within its grave, until

9Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

10Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill

11(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

12With living hues and odours plain and hill:

13Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

14Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

II

15Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,

16Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,

17Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

18Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread

19On the blue surface of thine a?ry surge,

20Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

21Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

22Of the horizon to the zenith's height,

23The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

24Of the dying year, to which this closing night

25Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,

26Vaulted with all thy congregated might

27Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere

28Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!

III

29Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

30The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

31Lull'd by the coil of his crystàlline streams,

32Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,

33And saw in sleep old palaces and towers

34Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

35All overgrown with azure moss and flowers

36So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou

37For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

38Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below

39The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear

40The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

41Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,

42And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!

IV

43If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;

44If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

45A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

46The impulse of thy strength, only less free

47Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even

48I were as in my boyhood, and could be

49The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,

50As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed

51Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven

52As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

53Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

54I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

55A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd

56One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V

57Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:

58What if my leaves are falling like its own!

59The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

60Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,

61Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, 62My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

63Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

64Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth! 65And, by the incantation of this verse,

66Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth

67Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! 68Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth

69The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,

70If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?