济慈代表作(双语)
外国爱情诗赏析《我恳求你的仁慈》英国：济慈
外国爱情诗赏析《我恳求你的仁慈》英国：济慈〔英国〕济慈我恳求你的仁慈，怜悯，爱情!呵，我要仁慈的爱情，从不诳骗;要它无邪、专一、别无二心，坦开了胸怀——没一点污斑!哦，让我整个拥有你，整个的!那身姿、美色、眼、手、和你的吻——一种甜蜜而次要的爱欲，——以及那胸脯：玉洁、温暖、透明、储有万千乐趣;呵，统统给我：你，和你的灵魂，别留一星星;否则我会死;或者，也许活着，成为你悲惨的奴隶，被投进暗淡苦恼的迷雾里，失去了生活的情趣、雄心和目标!(查良铮译)有位诗人的墓碑上写着：“此地长眠者，声名水上书”。
这是后人遵照这位诗人生前的遗言如此落笔的，这位长眠者就是济慈。
是的，他的一生并不怎样看重声名，但是他却非常看重爱情。
当爱情没有光顾的时候，他用自己的诗句呼唤着：“因为我久已冬眠，等待爱情;”当爱情姗姗而至时，他便热烈地、贪婪地吸吮着爱的乳汁。
这首诗，就是诗人写给他的恋人芬妮·勃罗思小姐的。
诗人于1816年底，即23岁那年，结识了他的邻居芬妮·勃罗思小姐。
从此，这位年轻的诗人结束了心灵的孤独，走进了爱的港湾。
在当时，诗人是全身心地投入了爱情。
白天和爱人依偎在一起，而每到夜晚他却十分痛苦，无法安睡。
这种情形在他的许多诗歌中都有所表露。
在他们相恋的最初半年里，济慈生活在幸福之中，他常同芬妮远远地散步，度过许多愉快的时光。
然而，济慈患上了肺结核病，这给他的爱情生活罩上了一层阴影。
他曾有过忧虑。
后来，在1819年10月，诗人与芬妮·勃罗思小姐定了婚。
《我求你的仁慈》一诗就表现了诗人对芬妮热烈痴迷的情怀。
很久以来就呼唤着爱情的济慈，他的爱情标准是什么呢?这就是该诗的主题。
他要求的是真诚的、专一的爱，身体和灵魂全部的爱，别留一星星。
这就是他的爱情观，之所以如此，是因为诗人历来把爱情看得很神圣。
他曾在一封信中说：“我除了心情的爱之神圣与想象的真实之外，什么事都不确认。
”济慈曾有过许多对哲学和艺术的观点，其中最著名的是“天然接受力”的思想。
济慈的诗歌
济慈的诗歌济慈（John Keats，1795年10月31日-1821年2月23日）是英国浪漫主义时期的诗人，也是19世纪初期最重要的诗人之一。
他的诗歌主题涉及爱情、美、死亡、艺术、自然等广泛领域，情感深沉，语言华美，被誉为英国浪漫主义诗歌的代表。
下面是济慈的一些著名诗歌：1.《秋日颂歌》（Ode to Autumn）季节的更替，仿佛是自然万物的一场交响乐。
在这首诗中，济慈用美丽的自然景象描绘出秋天的壮丽和丰收的喜悦，表达了对生命的赞美和感怀。
“季节一年又一年更替，青春易逝，花开花落无常，唯有秋天，收获的季节，最值得歌颂。
”2.《致一只夜莺》（Ode to a Nightingale）这首诗歌是济慈最著名的作品之一，它通过夜莺的歌声，表达了对美和永恒的追求，同时也探讨了人类存在的无常和有限性。
“离开世俗的束缚，我要沉浸在你的歌声中，和你一起飞翔，直达美和永恒的彼岸。
”3.《美女肖像》（The Eve of St. Agnes）这是一首长篇叙事诗，描绘了一个古老的传说，讲述了一个年轻的男人热切追求他梦想中的女孩。
诗歌以浪漫主义的方式描绘了爱情和美的永恒追求。
"她——美如天仙，飘逸如矫健的鹤鸣；她——悠然自在，安静如法国列车的轻盈声音；她——尤为美丽，就像一束烈火，散发着天使般的光芒。
"4.《没人欣赏槲寄生的美》（No One so Much as You）这首短篇诗歌向爱情献上了赞美。
济慈用槲寄生作为象征，表达了人们在追求美和爱情时所经历的困难和挫折。
最后，他呼吁对方在彼此的爱情中寻找安宁和幸福。
“我多少次战胜了痛苦，才得到你的爱，而你的美，却久经考验，在冬季里颤栗，在春天里任由风儿吹拂，可没有人欣赏它的存在。
”5.《翻译是译不出来的》（On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer）这首诗是济慈的一首短诗，它描述了济慈第一次读到莎士比亚的诗歌的感受。
济慈生平简介(英文版)及部分诗作
John Keats (1795-1821), renowned poet of the English Romantic Movement, wrote some of the greatest English language poems including "La Belle Dame Sans Merci", "Ode To A Nightingale", and "Ode On a Grecian Urn";O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with bredeOf marble men and maidens overwrought,With forest branches and the trodden weed;Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thoughtAs doth eternity: Cold pastoral!When old age shall this generation waste,Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woeThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou sayst,"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is allYe know on earth, and all ye need to know."、John Keats was born on 31 October 1795 in Moorgate, London, England, the first child born to Frances Jennings (b.1775-d.1810) and Thomas Keats (d.1804), an employee of a livery stable. He had three siblings: George (1797-1841), Thomas (1799-1818), and Frances Mary "Fanny" (1803-1889). After leaving school in Enfield, Keats went on to apprentice with Dr. Hammond, a surgeon in Edmonton. After his father died in a riding accident, and his mother died of tuberculosis, John and his brothers moved to Hampstead. It was here that Keats met Charles Armitage Brown (1787-1842) who would become a great friend. Remembering his first meeting with him, Brown writes "His full fine eyes were lustrously intellectual, and beaming (at that time!)". Much grieved by his death, Brown worked for many years on his memoir and biography, Life of John Keats (1841). In it Brown claims that it was not until Keats read Edmund Spencer's Faery Queen that he realised his own gift for the poetic. Keats was an avid student in the fields of medicine and natural history, but he then turned his attentions to the literary works of such authors as William Shakespeare and Geoffrey Chaucer.Keats had his poems published in the magazines of the day at the encouragement of many including James Henry Leigh Hunt Esq. (1784-1859), editor of the Examiner and to whom Keats dedicated his first collection Poems (1817). It includes "To My Brother George", "O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell", and "Happy is England! I Could Be Content". Upon its appearance a series of personal attacks directed at Keats ensued in the pages of Blackwood's Magazine. Despite the controversy surrounding his life, Keats's literary merit prevailed. That sameto stay with him and his family in Italy, he declined. When Shelley's body was washed ashore after drowning, a volume of Keats's poetry was found in his pocket.Having worked on it for many months, Keats finished his epic poem comprising four books, Endymion: A Poetic Romance--"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever"--in 1818. That summer he travelled to the Lake District of England and on to Ireland and Scotland on a walking tour with Brown. They visited the grave of Robert Burns and reminisced upon John Milton's poetry. While he was not aware of the seriousness of it, Keats was suffering from the initial stages of the deadly infectious disease tuberculosis. He cut his trip short and upon return to Hampstead immediately tended to his brother Tom who was then in the last stages of the disease. After Tom's death in December of 1818, Keats lived with Brown.Life of John Keats.Around this time Keats met, fell in love with, and became engaged to eighteen year old Frances "Fanny" Brawne (1800-1865). He wrote one of his more famous sonnets to her titled "Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art". While their relationship inspired much spiritual development for Keats, it also proved to be tempestuous, filled with the highs and lows from jealousy and infatuation of first love. Brown was not impressed and tried to provide some emotional stability to Keats. Many for a time were convinced that Fanny was the cause of his illness, or, used that as an excuse to try to keep her away from him. For a while even Keats entertained the possibility that he was merely suffering physical manifestations of emotional anxieties--but after suffering a hemorrhage he gave Fanny permission to break their engagement. She would hear nothing of it and by her word provided much comfort to Keats in his last days that she was ultimately loyal to him.Although 1819 proved to be his most prolific year of writing, Keats was also in dire financial straits. His brother George had borrowed money he could ill-afford to part with. His earning Fanny's mother's approval to marrydepended on his earning as a writer and he started plans with his publisher John Taylor (1781-1864) for his next volume of poems. At the beginning of 1820 Keats started to show more pronounced signs of the deadly tuberculosis that had killed his mother and brother. After a lung hemorrhage, Keats calmly accepted his fate, and he enjoyed several weeks of respite under Brown's watchful eye. As was common belief at the time that bleeding a patient was beneficial to healing, Keats was bled and given opium to relieve his anxiety and pain. He was at times put on a starvation diet, then at other times prescribed to eat meat and drink red wine to gain strength. Despite these ill-advised good-intentions, and suffering increasing weakness and fever, Keats was able to emerge from his fugue and organise the publication of his next volume of poetry.Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems (1820) includes some of his best-known and oft-quoted works: "Hyperion", "To Autumn", and "Ode To A Nightingale". "Nightingale" evokes all the pain and suffering that Keats experienced during his short life-time: the death of his mother; the physical anguish he saw as a young apprentice tending to the sick and dying at St. Guy's Hospital; the death of his brother; and ultimately his own physical and spiritual suffering in love and illness. Keats lived to see positive reviews of Lamia, even in Blackwood's magazine. But the positivity was not to last long; Brown left for Scotland and the ailing Keats lived with Hunt for a time. But it was unbearable to him and only exacerbated his condition--he was unable to see Fanny, so, when he showed up at the Brawne's residence in much emotional agitation, sick, and feverish, they could not refuse him. He enjoyed a month with them, blissfully under the constant care of his beloved Fanny. Possibly bolstered by his finally having unrestricted time with her, and able to imagine a happy future with her, Keats considered his last hope of recovery of a rest cure in the warm climes of Italy. As a parting gift Fanny gave him a piece of marble which she had often clasped to cool her hand. In September of 1820 Keats sailed to Rome with friend and painter Joseph Severn (1793-1879, who was unaware of his circumstances with Fanny and the gravity of his health.Keats put on a bold front but it soon became apparent to Severn that he was terminally ill. They stayed in rooms on the Piazza Navona near the Spanish Steps, and enjoyed the lively sights and sounds of the people and culture, but Keats soon fell into a deep depression. When his attending doctor James Clark (1788-1870) finally voiced aloud the grim prognosis, Keats's medical background came to the fore and he longed to end his life and avoid the humiliating physical and mental torments of tuberculosis. By early 1821 he was confined to bed, Severn a devoted nurse. Keats had resolved not to write to Fanny and would not read a letter from her for fear of the pain it would cause him, although he constantly clasped her marble. During bouts of coughing, fever, nightmares, Keats also tried to cheer his friend, who held him till the end.John Keats died on 23 February 1821 in Rome, Italy, and now rests in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, by the pyramid of Caius Cestius, near his friend Shelley. His epitaph reads "Here lies one whose name was writ in water", inspired by the line "all your better deeds, Shall be in water writ" from Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) and John Fletcher's (1579-1625) five act play Philaster or: Love Lies A-bleeding. Just a year later, Shelley was buried in the same cemetery, not long after he had written "Adonais" (1821) in tribute to his friend;I weep for Adonais--he is dead!O, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!And thou, sad Hour, selected from all yearsTo mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With meDied Adonais; till the Future daresForget the Past, his fate and fame shall beAn echo and a light unto eternity!"Fanny Brawne married in 1833 and died at the age of sixty-five. English poet and friend of Brown's, Richard Monckton Milnes (1809-1885) wrote Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats (1848). During his lifetime and since, John Keats inspired numerous other authors, poets, and artists, and remains one of the most widely read and studied 19th century poets.Biography written by C. D. Merriman for Jalic Inc. Copyright Jalic Inc. 2007. All Rights Reserved.Works：长篇叙事诗Endymion《恩底弥翁》;The Eve of St.Agnes《圣艾格尼丝节前夜》;Lamia《拉米亚》;（颂诗）Ode to Psyche《普赛克颂》;《希腊古瓮颂》Sleep and Poetry《睡与诗》"As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete Was unto me, but why that I ne might Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese."CHAUCER.What is more gentle than a wind in summer? What is more soothing than the pretty hummer That stays one moment in an open flower,And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing In a green island, far from all men's knowing? More healthful than the leafiness of dales?More secret than a nest of nightingales?More serene than Cordelia's countenance?More full of visions than a high romance? What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes! Low murmurer of tender lullabies!Light hoverer around our happy pillows! Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows! Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!Most happy listener! when the morning blesses Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyesThat glance so brightly at the new sun-rise. But what is higher beyond thought than thee? Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?What is it? And to what shall I compare it?It has a glory, and nought else can share it:The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, Chacing away all worldliness and folly;Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;And sometimes like a gentle whisperingOf all the secrets of some wond'rous thingThat breathes about us in the vacant air;So that we look around with prying stare,Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning; To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,That is to crown our name when life is ended. Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice! Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things, And die away in ardent mutterings.No one who once the glorious sun has seen,And all the clouds, and felt his bosom cleanFor his great Maker's presence, but must know What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow:Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,By telling what he sees from native merit.O Poesy! for thee I hold my penThat am not yet a glorious denizenOf thy wide heaven--Should I rather kneelUpon some mountain-top until I feelA glowing splendour round about me hung,And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?O Poesy! for thee I grasp my penThat am not yet a glorious denizenOf thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air, Smoothed for intoxication by the breathOf flowering bays, that I may die a deathOf luxury, and my young spirit followThe morning sun-beams to the great ApolloLike a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bearThe o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair Visions of all places: a bowery nookWill be elysium--an eternal bookWhence I may copy many a lovely sayingAbout the leaves, and flowers--about the playing Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid;And many a verse from so strange influenceThat we must ever wonder how, and whenceIt came. Also imaginings will hoverRound my fire-side, and haply there discover Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wanderIn happy silence, like the clear meanderThrough its lone vales; and where I found a spot Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot,Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dressOf flowers, and fearful from its loveliness,Write on my tablets all that was permitted,All that was for our human senses fitted.Then the events of this wide world I'd seizeLike a strong giant, and my spirit teazeTill at its shoulders it should proudly seeWings to find out an immortality. Stop and consider! life is but a day;A fragile dew-drop on its perilous wayFrom a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steepOf Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;The reading of an ever-changing tale;The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, Riding the springy branches of an elm.O for ten years, that I may overwhelmMyself in poesy; so I may do the deedThat my own soul has to itself decreed.Then will I pass the countries that I seeIn long perspective, and continuallyTaste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass,Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees; Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,--Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white Into a pretty shrinking with a biteAs hard as lips can make it: till agreed,A lovely tale of human life we'll read.And one will teach a tame dove how it bestMay fan the cool air gently o'er my rest; Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,Will set a green robe floating round her head, And still will dance with ever varied case,Smiling upon the flowers and the trees:Another will entice me on, and onThrough almond blossoms and rich cinnamon;Till in the bosom of a leafy worldWe rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'dIn the recesses of a pearly shell.And can I ever bid these joys farewell?Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,Where I may find the agonies, the strifeOf human hearts: for lo! I see afar,O'er sailing the blue cragginess, a carAnd steeds with streamy manes--the charioteer Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear:And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly Wheel downward come they into fresher skies,Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. Still downward with capacious whirl they glide, And now I see them on a green-hill's sideIn breezy rest among the nodding stalks.The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talksTo the trees and mountains; and there soon appear Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,Passing along before a dusky spaceMade by some mighty oaks: as they would chase Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep.Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep: Some with upholden hand and mouth severe; Some with their faces muffled to the earBetween their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, Go glad and smilingly, athwart the gloom;Some looking back, and some with upward gaze; Yes, thousands in a thousand different waysFlit onward--now a lovely wreath of girlsDancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;And now broad wings. Most awfully intentThe driver, of those steeds is forward bent,And seems to listen: O that I might knowAll that he writes with such a hurrying glow.The visions all are fled--the car is fledInto the light of heaven, and in their steadA sense of real things comes doubly strong,And, like a muddy stream, would bear alongMy soul to nothingness: but I will striveAgainst all doublings, and will keep aliveThe thought of that same chariot, and the strange Journey it went.Is there so small a rangeIn the present strength of manhood, that the high Imagination cannot freely flyAs she was wont of old? prepare her steeds, Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds Upon the clouds? Has she not shewn us all? From the clear space of ether, to the small Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening Of April meadows? Here her altar shone,E'en in this isle; and who could paragonThe fervid choir that lifted up a noiseOf harmony, to where it aye will poiseIts mighty self of convoluting sound,Huge as a planet, and like that roll round, Eternally around a dizzy void?Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd With honors; nor had any other careThan to sing out and sooth their wavy hair.Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a schism Nurtured by foppery and barbarism,Made great Apollo blush for this his land.Men were thought wise who could not understand His glories: with a puling infant's forceThey sway'd about upon a rocking horse,And thought it Pegasus. Ah dismal soul'd!The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'dIts gathering waves--ye felt it not. The blue Bared its eternal bosom, and the dewOf summer nights collected still to makeThe morning precious: beauty was awake!Why were ye not awake? But ye were deadTo things ye knew not of,--were closely wedTo musty laws lined out with wretched ruleAnd compass vile: so that ye taught a schoolOf dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit,Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,Their verses tallied. Easy was the task:A thousand handicraftsmen wore the maskOf Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race!That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, And did not know it,--no, they went about, Holding a poor, decrepid standard outMark'd with most flimsy mottos, and in largeThe name of one Boileau!O ye whose chargeIt is to hover round our pleasant hills!Whose congregated majesty so fillsMy boundly reverence, that I cannot traceYour hallowed names, in this unholy place,So near those common folk; did not their shames Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames Delight you? Did ye never cluster roundDelicious Avon, with a mournful sound,And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieuTo regions where no more the laurel grew?Or did ye stay to give a welcomingTo some lone spirits who could proudly singTheir youth away, and die? 'Twas even so:But let me think away those times of woe:Now 'tis a fairer season; ye have breathedRich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathedFresh garlands: for sweet music has been heardIn many places;--some has been upstirr'dFrom out its crystal dwelling in a lake,By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake,Nested and quiet in a valley mild,Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wildAbout the earth: happy are ye and glad.These things are doubtless: yet in truth we've had Strange thunders from the potency of song; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, From majesty: but in clear truth the themesAre ugly clubs, the Poets PolyphemesDisturbing the grand sea. A drainless showerOf light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power;'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm. The very archings of her eye-lids charmA thousand willing agents to obey,And still she governs with the mildest sway:But strength alone though of the Muses bornIs like a fallen angel: trees uptorn,Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs,And thorns of life; forgetting the great endOf poesy, that it should be a friendTo sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Yet I rejoice: a myrtle fairer thanE'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weedsLifts its sweet head into the air, and feedsA silent space with ever sprouting green.All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing.Then let us clear away the choaking thornsFrom round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, Yeaned in after times, when we are flown,Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrownWith simple flowers: let there nothing beMore boisterous than a lover's bended knee; Nought more ungentle than the placid lookOf one who leans upon a closed book;Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes Between two hills. All hail delightful hopes!As she was wont, th' imaginationInto most lovely labyrinths will be gone,And they shall be accounted poet kingsWho simply tell the most heart-easing things.O may these joys be ripe before I die.Will not some say that I presumptuouslyHave spoken? that from hastening disgrace'Twere better far to hide my foolish face?That whining boyhood should with reverence bow Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach? How!If I do hide myself, it sure shall beIn the very fane, the light of Poesy:If I do fall, at least I will be laidBeneath the silence of a poplar shade;And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; And there shall be a kind memorial graven.But oft' Despondence! miserable bane!They should not know thee, who athirst to gain A noble end, are thirsty every hour.What though I am not wealthy in the dowerOf spanning wisdom; though I do not knowThe shiftings of the mighty winds, that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughtsOf man: though no great minist'ring reason sorts Out the dark mysteries of human soulsTo clear conceiving: yet there ever rollsA vast idea before me, and I gleanTherefrom my liberty; thence too I've seenThe end and aim of Poesy. 'Tis clearAs any thing most true; as that the yearIs made of the four seasons--manifestAs a large cross, some old cathedral's crest, Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should IBe but the essence of deformity,A coward, did my very eye-lids winkAt speaking out what I have dared to think.Ah! rather let me like a madman runOver some precipice; let the hot sunMelt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile.An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, Spreads awfully before me. How much toil!How many days! what desperate turmoil!Ere I can have explored its widenesses.Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,I could unsay those--no, impossible! Impossible!For sweet relief I'll dwellOn humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay Begun in gentleness die so away.E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades:I turn full hearted to the friendly aidsThat smooth the path of honour; brotherhood, And friendliness the nurse of mutual good.The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet Into the brain ere one can think upon it;The silence when some rhymes are coming out; And when they're come, the very pleasant rout: The message certain to be done to-morrow.'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow Some precious book from out its snug retreat, To cluster round it when we next shall meet. Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airsAre fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; Many delights of that glad day recalling,When first my senses caught their tender falling. And with these airs come forms of elegance Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance, Careless, and grand--fingers soft and round Parting luxuriant curls;--and the swift bound Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly.Thus I remember all the pleasant flowOf words at opening a portfolio.Things such as these are ever harbingersTo trains of peaceful images: the stirsOf a swan's neck unseen among the rushes:A linnet starting all about the bushes:A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted, Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted With over pleasure--many, many more,Might I indulge at large in all my storeOf luxuries: yet I must not forgetSleep, quiet with his poppy coronet:For what there may be worthy in these rhymes I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimesOf friendly voices had just given placeTo as sweet a silence, when I 'gan retraceThe pleasant day, upon a couch at ease.It was a poet's house who keeps the keysOf pleasure's temple. Round about were hung The glorious features of the bards who sungIn other ages--cold and sacred bustsSmiled at each other. Happy he who trustsTo clear Futurity his darling fame!Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim At swelling apples with a frisky leapAnd reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heapOf vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane Of liny marble, and thereto a trainOf nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward: One, loveliest, holding her white band toward The dazzling sun-rise: two sisters sweet Bending their graceful figures till they meet Over the trippings of a little child:And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping.See, in another picture, nymphs are wipingCherishingly Diana's timorous limbs;--A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swimsAt the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motionWith the subsiding crystal: as when oceanHeaves calmly its broad swelling smoothiness o'er Its rocky marge, and balances once moreThe patient weeds; that now unshent by foamFeel all about their undulating home.Sappho's meek head was there half smiling downAt nothing; just as though the earnest frownOf over thinking had that moment goneFrom off her brow, and left her all alone.Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes,As if he always listened to the sighsOf the goaded world; and Kosciusko's wornBy horrid suffrance--mightily forlorn.Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green,Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can weanHis eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they!For over them was seen a free displayOf out-spread wings, and from between them shone The face of Poesy: from off her throneShe overlook'd things that I scarce could tell.The very sense of where I was might wellKeep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came Thought after thought to nourish up the flame Within my breast; so that the morning light Surprised me even from a sleepless night;And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay, Resolving to begin that very dayThese lines; and howsoever they be done,I leave them as a father does his son. Ode to a Nightingale《夜莺颂》My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness painsMy sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drainsOne minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,But being too happy in thy happiness, -That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.O for a draught of vintage! that hath beenCooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora and the country-green,Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth.O for a beaker full of the warm South,Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,With beaded bubbles winking at the brimAnd purple-stained mouth;That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,And with thee fade away into the forest dim.Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs;Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow.Away! away! for I will fly to thee,Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy,Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night,And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays;But here there is no lightSave what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endowsThe grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;And mid-May's eldest childThe coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath;Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroadIn such an ecstasy!Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -To thy high requiem become a sod.Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!。
诗人济慈的诗歌介绍
诗人济慈的诗歌介绍济慈是英国浪漫主义诗人中的代表人物，被誉为“英国诗歌的神童”。
他的诗歌多采用自然题材，充满激情和美感。
以下是济慈的几首代表诗歌（中文+英文）：1、《秋日田园》季节转换，一切都在变化。
日夜不止，光阴如梭。
秋日的芜菁在田野里茁壮成长，丝绸状的玉米、金黄色的小麦，灵芝、蘑菇在枯草丛中生长，松鼠挥舞着尾巴狂奔，芦花舞动在水塘里，一切都充满着生命的活力。
2、《樱桃之歌》樱桃在阳光下蹦跳着，穿过田野，穿过林间，那光彩照人的笑容，是如此的纯粹和美好。
她本是一个普通的女孩，但在这春光明媚的季节里，她变了一个样，她用她的美丽和活力，点亮了整个世界的色彩。
3、《诗人的叹息》人生的旅途如同一场漫长的旅行，我们在途中哭过、笑过、感到幸福、悲伤。
时间会嫌我们年轻、会让我们老去，但我们要学会把握现在，用诗歌记录下每一个瞬间的美好，在心中埋下一颗丰盈的种子，让它在岁月的沉淀中变得越来越美好。
4、《当时光消逝时》当时光消逝时，寂静无声，如醉如梦。
一切都在变化，风吹过，绿叶纷飞，阳光照耀下，花儿娇艳欲滴。
我们的青春也在流逝，岁月不停驻足，让我们珍惜每一刻，用诗歌记录下它们的美好。
5、《飞舞的蝴蝶》飞舞的蝴蝶，快乐而自由，它们在花丛间翩翩起舞，身披五彩斑斓的羽翼，如同流动着滚烫的绒花。
纷飞的花瓣，似天堂的精灵，一只只蝴蝶，翩翩起舞，舞动翅膀，翩翩起舞，它们的美丽，是大自然的礼物。
6、《溪流慢歌》溪流快乐地流淌着，清新的水滴远去，流动的水面上，掀起层层涟漪，慢悠悠地流淌着，漫不经心地流淌着，似乎在讲述自然的妙处。
我们在这里静静地等待，在流水潺潺的声音中，静静感受生命的意义。
7、《不能弥补的损失》时间是肆无忌惮的流失，无法弥补我们已经失去的，如同在黑夜中寻找曙光，留下的却是无尽的悲伤。
友情并非那么容易得到，缘份也并不是无限的延续，过往的事情时常在脑海中翻腾，深深地打动着心扉。
8、《草地上的阳光》草地上的阳光把一切都照耀得那么美好，在这片草地中，人们欢笑、嬉戏，小鸟在天空中飞翔着，欢唱着生命的美妙。
romantic-poets-(Keats)浪漫主义诗人(济慈)
西风颂
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黑暗的冬床上，它们就躺在那里，
像是墓中的死穴，冰冷，深藏，低贱，
哦，狂暴的西风，秋之生命的呼吸！ 直等到春天，你碧空的姊妹吹起
你无形，但枯死的落叶被你横扫， 有如鬼魅碰到了巫师，纷纷逃避： 她的喇叭，在沉睡的大地上响遍，
（唤出嫩芽，象羊群一样，觅食空中）
黄的，黑的，灰的，红得像患肺痨， 将色和香充满了山峰和平原。
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Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
He is also known to Chinese readers, mainly for his Ode to the West Wind (1820), whose ending “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” has given courage to many revolutionaries faced with reverses, even death. He also wrote many other notable works, such as the lyrical drama Prometheus Unbound (1820).
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Byron’s influence has been felt all over the globe. His theme of quest for freedom and against tyranny and his romantic spirit have made their imprint upon the life and the literature of the world.
就把我的话语，像是灰烬和火星 从还未熄灭的炉火向人间播散！
济慈诗选(英汉对照英诗经典名家名译)
济慈诗选(英汉对照英诗经典名家名译) 济慈诗选（英汉对照英诗经典名家名译）一唯觉樽前说短歌The Wineshop众里寻他千百度，Seeking him here, seeking him thereThroughout a hundred lands they roam蓦然回首，那人却在灯火阑珊处。
Suddenly, turning round I seeHim where the lamplight soft and low二春晓The Morning of Spring春眠不觉晓，Asleep in spring, unawareThe morning dawns so very fair处处闻啼鸟。
Beyond the trees, the birds in gleeCarry their song in melody三寻隐者不遇In Search of Recluses松下问童子，Under the pines I asked a boyWhere I might find the recluses here 童子不知道。
But he was unknown to them, alasAnd could not point me in their track 四将进酒Bring in the Wine君不见，黄河之水天上来，Ah, you should see the waters comeFrom Heaven's flood, the Yellow River 奔流到海不复回。
Never to be returned to whenceIt surged, and rushed to ocean's depths 五静夜思Thoughts in the Silent Night床前明月光，The moonlight glints on my bedA solitary light so bright疑是地上霜。
济慈经典英语诗歌（2）
济慈经典英语诗歌(2)O Goddess! Hear these tuneless numbers, wrung 女神呵!请听这些不成调的韵律——By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,由倾心的执着和亲切的回忆所促成——And pardon that thy secrets should be sung请原谅，这诗句唱出了你的秘密，Even into thine own soft-conched ear:直诉向你那柔软的海螺状耳轮：Surely I dreamt today, or did I see无疑我今天曾梦见——我是否目睹The winged Psyche with awakened eyes?长着翅膀、睁着眼睛的赛吉?I wandered in a forest thoughtlessly,我在树林里无思无虑地漫步，And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,突然，我竟惊奇得目眩神迷，Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side我见到两个美丽的精灵相依偎In deepest grass, beneath the whispering roof在深草丛里，上面有絮语的树叶Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran 和轻颤的鲜花荫庇，溪水流淌A brooklet, scarce espied:在其间，无人偷窥：'Mid hushed, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, 周围是宁静的、清凉的、芬芳的嫩蕊，Blue, silver-white and budded Tyrian,蓝色花、银色花，紫色的花苞待放，They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass; 他们躺卧在绿茵上，呼吸得安详;Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;他们的手臂拥抱，翅膀交叠;Their lips touched not, but had not bade adieu, 他们的嘴唇没接触，也没告别，As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,仿佛被睡眠的柔腕分开一时，And ready still past kisses to outnumber准备醒后再继续亲吻无数次At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:在欢爱的黎明睁眼来到的时刻：The winged boy I knew;带翅的男孩我熟悉;But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?可你是谁呀，幸福的、幸福的小鸽?His Psyche true!他的好赛吉!O latest born and loveliest vision far啊，出生在最后而秀美超群的形象Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!来自奥林波斯山暗淡的神族!Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star,蓝宝石一般的福柏减却清芒，Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;天边威斯佩多情的萤光比输;Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, 你比他们美，虽然你没有神庙，Nor altar heaped with flowers;没堆满供花的祭坛;Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan也没童男女唱诗班等午夜来到Upon the midnight hours:便唱出哀婉的咏叹;No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet 没声音，没诗琴，没风管，没香烟浓烈From chain-swung censer teeming;从金链悬挂的香炉播散;No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat没神龛，没圣林，没神谕，没先知狂热，Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.嘴唇苍白，沉迷于梦幻。
英语学习资料：济慈经典英文诗：哦，孤独
英语学习资料：济慈经典英文诗：哦，孤独济慈经典英文诗：哦，孤独约翰·济慈（John·Keats）是英国杰出的浪漫派诗人，他的代表作有《伊莎贝拉》、《圣亚尼节前夜》、《夜莺颂》、《秋颂》等。
O Solitude! 哦，孤独JohnKeats 约翰·济慈O Solitude!哦，孤独O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,哦，孤独！假若我和你必需同住，Let it not be among the jumbled heap，可别在这层叠的一片Of murky buildings,climb with me the steep,灰色建筑里，让我们爬上山，Nature's observatory- whence the dell,到大自然的观测台去，从那里——Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,山谷、晶亮的河，锦簇的草坡May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep,看来只是一拃；让我守着你Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap，在枝叶荫蔽下，看跳纵的鹿糜Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.把指顶花蛊里的蜜蜂惊吓。
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,不过，虽然我喜欢和你赏玩Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,Is my soul's pleasure,这些景色，我的心灵更乐于和纯洁的心灵（她的言语是优美情思的表象）亲切会谈；and it sure must be，Almost the highest bliss of human-kind, 因为我相信，人的至高的乐趣When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.是一对心灵避入你的港湾。
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济慈《夜莺颂》是1818年济慈23岁的作品。
该诗歌一共八节80余行，该诗歌具有强烈的浪漫主义特色，用美丽的比喻和一泻千里的流利语言表达了诗人心中强烈的思想感情和对自由世界的深深向往。
Ode to a Nightingale 夜莺颂- John Keats 中英双语对照My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 我的心痛，困顿和麻木My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 毒害了感官，犹如饮过毒鸩，Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 又似刚把鸦片吞服，One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk 一分钟的时间，字句在忘川中沉没'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 并不是在嫉妒你的幸运，But being too happy in thine happiness,-- 是为着你的幸运而大感快乐，That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees 你，林间轻翅的精灵，In some melodious plot 在山毛榉绿影下的情结中，Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 放开了歌喉，歌唱夏季。
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been 哎，一口酒！那冷藏Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 在地下多年的甘醇，Tasting of Flora and the country green, 味如花神、绿土、Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 舞蹈、恋歌和灼热的欢乐！O for a beaker full of the warm South, 哎，满满一杯南方的温暖，Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 充满了鲜红的灵感之泉，With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 杯沿闪动着珍珠的泡沫，And purple-stained mouth 和唇边退去的紫色；That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 我要一饮以不见尘世，And with thee fade away into the forest dim 与你循入森林幽暗的深处Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 远远的离开，消失，彻底忘记What thou among the leaves hast never known, 林中的你从不知道的，The weariness, the fever, and the fret 疲惫、热病和急躁Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; 这里，人们坐下并听着彼此的呻吟；Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 瘫痪摇动了一会儿，悲伤了，最后的几丝白发，Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; 青春苍白，古怪的消瘦下去，后来死亡；Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs, 铅色的眼睛绝望着；..Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 美人守不住明眸，Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 新的恋情过不完明天。
Away! away! for I will fly to thee, 去吧！去吧！我要飞向你，Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 不用酒神的车辗和他的随从，But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 乘着诗歌无形的翅膀，Though the dull brain perplexes and retards 尽管这混沌的头脑早已跟随你，Already with thee! tender is the night, 夜色温柔，而月后And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 正登上她的宝座，Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; 周围是她所有的星星仙子，But here there is no light, 但这处那处都没有光，Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 一些天光被微风吹入幽绿，Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 和青苔的曲径。
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 我不能看清是哪些花在我的脚旁，Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 何种软香悬于高枝，But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 但在温馨的暗处，猜测每一种甜蜜Wherewith the seasonable month endows 以其时令的赠与The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 青草地、灌木丛、野果树White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 白山楂和田园玫瑰；Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; 叶堆中易的紫罗兰；And mid-May's eldest child, 还有五与中旬的首出，The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 这啜满了露酒的麝香蔷薇，The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 夏夜蝇子嗡嗡的出没其中。
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time 我倾听黑夜，多少次I have been half in love with easeful Death, 我几乎爱上了逸谧的死亡，Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 在如此多的沉思之韵中呼唤她轻柔的名，To take into the air my quiet breath; 编织成歌，我无声的呼吸；Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 现在她更加华丽的死去，To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 在午夜不带悲伤的飞升，While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 当你正向外倾泻灵魂In such an ecstasy!这般的迷狂！Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- 你仍唱着，而我听不见，To thy high requiem become a sod. 你那高昂的安魂曲对着一搓泥土。
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 永生的鸟啊！你不为了死亡出生！No hungry generations tread thee down; 饥饿的时代无法把你蹂躏；The voice I hear this passing night was heard 这逝去的夜晚里我所听见的In ancient days by emperor and clown: 在那远古的日子也曾为帝王和小丑听见；Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 可能相同的歌在鲁思那颗忧愁的心中Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 找到了一条路径，当她思念故乡，She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 站在异邦的谷田中落泪；..The same that oft-times hath 这声音常常Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 在遗失的仙城中震动了窗扉Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 望向泡沫浪花Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 遗失！这个字如同一声钟响To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 把我从你处带会我单独自我！Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 别了！幻想无法继续欺骗As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. 当她不再能够，Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades别了！别了！你哀伤的圣歌Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 退入了后面的草地，流过溪水，Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 涌上山坡；而此时，它正深深In the next valley-glades: 埋在下一个山谷的阴影中：Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 是幻觉，还是梦寐？Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep? 那歌声去了：我醒了？我睡着？美是济慈的毕生追求，《希腊古瓮颂》是诗人对美的颂歌。
诗歌通过诗人对古瓮观感以及与古瓮的对话，得出了“美即是真，真即是美”的结论。