经典英文长诗歌

30首必读经典外国诗歌英文如下：

1、spring goeth all in white 春之女神着素装

robert bridges罗伯特·布里季

spring goeth all in white, crowned with milk-white may; in fleecy flocks of light, o'er heaven the white clouds stray; white butterflies in the air; white daisies prank the ground; the cherry and hoary pear, scatter their snow around.

春之女神着素装，山楂花冠乳白光；天上分明一群羊，白云朵朵自来往；粉蝶空中时蹁跹；廷命菊花饰郊原；樱桃梨树共争艳，四处非花如雪片。

2、the river of life生命之川

thomas campbell妥默司·康沫尔

the more we live, more brief appear our life's succeeding stages; a day to childhood seems a year, and years like passing ages. the gladsome current of our youth, ere passion yet disorders, steals lingering like a river smooth, along its grassy borders.

人生越老，岁月越短，生命的历程似在飞换；儿时的一天如同一载，一载如同几个朝代。青春的热情尚未衰退，愉悦的流泉。

3、to daffodils咏黄水仙花

robert herrick罗伯特·哈里克

fair daffodils,we weep to see you haste away so soon; as yet the early-rising sun has not attain'd his noon. stay,stay, until the hasting day has run but to the even-song; and,having pray'd together, we will go with you along.

美的黄水仙，凋谢的太快，我们感觉着悲哀；连早晨出来的太阳都还没有上升到天盖。停下来，停下来，等匆忙的日脚跑进黄昏的木暮霭；在那时共同祈祷着，在回家的路上徘徊。

4、the daffodils黄水仙花

william wordsworth威廉姆·华滋华斯

i wander'd lonely as a cloud that floats on hight o'er vales and hills, when all the once i saw a crowd, a host,of golden daffodils, beside the lake,beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

独行徐徐如浮云，横绝太空渡山谷，忽然在我一瞥中，金色水仙花成簇，开在湖边乔木下，微风之中频摇曳。

5、a red，red rose红玫瑰

robert burns罗伯特·彭斯

o my luve's like a red,red rose that's newly spring in june: o my luve's like the melodie that's sweetly play'd tune. as fair art thou,my bonnie lass. so deep in luve am i: and i will luve thee still,my dear, till a'the seas gang dry.

吾爱吾爱玫瑰红，六月初开韵晓风；吾爱吾爱如管弦，其声悠扬而玲珑。吾爱吾爱美而珠，我心爱你永不渝，我心爱你永不渝。

文学是一种语言艺术,诗歌又历来被视作文学的最高形式。学习英语诗歌不但有助于开阔视野,陶冶性情,而且对于英语学习有很大帮助。我整理了长篇经典英文诗歌，欢迎阅读!

Charlotte Brontë in Leeds Point

by Stephen Dunn

From her window marshland stretched for miles.

If not for egrets and gulls， it reminded her of the moors

behind the parsonage， how the fog often hovered

and descended as if sheltering some sweet compulsion

the age was not ready to see. On clear days the jagged

skyline of Atlantic City was visible——Atlantic City，

where all compulsions had a home.

"Everything's too easy now，" she said to her neighbor，

"nothing resisted， nothing gained." Once， at eighteen，

she dreamed of London's proud salons glowing

with brilliant fires and dazzling chandeliers.

Already her own person——passionate， assertive——

soon she'd create a governess insistent on rights equal

to those above her rank. "The dangerous picture

of a natural heart，" one offended critic carped.

She'd failed， he said， to let religion reign

over the passions and， worse， she was a woman.

Now she was amazed at what women had，

doubly amazed at what they didn't.

But she hadn't come back to complain or haunt.

Her house on the bay was modest， adequate.

The Present Writer

by Coner O'Callaghan

answers questions vaguely， as if from distance，

cares less for the dribs and drabs of his libido;

gets more droll， lachrymose， implicit with age;

has backed from the room， the turntable moving

and a refill pad lying open at the page

with 'swansong' and 'glockenspiel' written on it;

makes collect calls from payphones， lost for words;

has been known to sleep in the rear seat

on the hard shoulder， the hazards ticking;

is given to sudden floods of hope; still dreams

of swimming pools， in sepia; can take or leave

a life in shadow; will whoop out of the blue

and surface on the landing， fork and spoon in hand，

adrift of what the done thing was; doodles butterflies

on the envelopes of unread letters; travels happiest

towards daylight and fancies pigeons; gets a kick

inhabiting the third person， as if talking across himself

or forever clapping his own exits from the wings.

The Potato

by Joseph Stroud

Three days into the journey

I lost the Inca Trail

and scrambled around the Andes

in a growing panic

when on a hillside below snowline

I met a farmer who pointed the way——

Machu Picchu allá， he said.

He knew where I wanted to go.

From my pack I pulled out an orange.

It seemed to catch fire

in that high blue Andean sky.

I gave it to him.

He had been digging in a garden，

turning up clumps of earth，

some odd， misshapen nuggets，

some potatoes.

He handed me one，

a potato the size of the orange

looking as if it had been in the ground

a hundred years，

a potato I carried with me

until at last I stood gazing down

on the Urubamba valley，

peaks rising out of the jungle into clouds，

and there among the mists

was the Temple of the Sun

and the Lost City of the Incas.

Looking back now， all these years later，

what I remember most，

what matters to me most，

was that farmer， alone on his hillside，

who gave me a potato，

a potato with its peasant face，

its lumps and lunar craters，

a potato that fit perfectly in my hand，

a potato that consoled me as I walked，

told me not to fear，

held me close to the earth，

the potato I put in a pot that night，

the potato I boiled above Machu Picchu，

the patient， gnarled potato

I ate.

the souljohn 灵魂约翰·格斯瓦斯my soul's the sky——my flying soul!the lightnight flare,the thunder roll,the sun and moon and stars go by,and great winds sweep my soul,the sky!my brooding soul——my soul's the sea!the snaky weed,and whishing scree,the white wave's surge from pole to pole,and still green depth——the sea's my soul!my soul's the spring——my loveing soul!will dance,and leap,and drain the bowlof love;and longing,twine and clingto all the world——my soul's the spring!my fevered soul!my soul's the town!thro'flaring street goes up and down;the bells of feast and traffic tolland maze their music in my soul.my tranquil soul!my soul too widefor sky,or spring,town,or tide!thou traveller to outer strandof home serene——my soul so grand!我的灵魂是太空！电在闪呵雷在轰，日月群星在运动，时而卷起大台风！我的灵魂是大海！蛇样的藻响石崖，百浪涛天天接地，琉璃万顷身无界！我的灵魂是阳春，踊跃狂饮爱之淳，万事万物皆有情，渴望，缠绵理不清。我的灵魂是市镇！陆离街道莽纵横；祭日之中驿站铃，结成交响之乐音。我的灵魂太沉静，天，春，镇，海比不赢！远游彼岸之太清——我的灵魂真雄浑！a london thoroughfare(2 a.m.)amy lowell 一条伦敦大马路（午夜二时）阿米·罗维尔they have watered the street,it shines in the glare of lamps,cold,white lamps,and lieslike a slow-moving river,barred with silver and black.cabs go down it,one,and then another.between then i hear the shuffling of feet.tramps doze on the window-ledges,night-walkers pass along the side-walks.the city is squalid and sinister,with the silver-barred street in the midst,slow-moving,a river leading nowhere.opposite my window,the moon cuts,clear and round,throu ugh the plum-colored night.she cannot light the city;it is too bright.it was white lamps,and glitters coldly.i stand in the window and watch the moon.she is thin and lustreless,but i love her.i know the moon,and this is an alien city.人们在街上洒了水，街道在灯光中扬辉，冷，白色的灯，躺着像一条河慢慢流进，有银色、黑色的条纹，马车走过来，一台，又是一台。在它们之间夹着脚音。脚音在窗台上打盹，人行道上过着夜行的人。这城市阴晦而苦闷，有银线条的街在它中心，慢慢的流着一条没有出口的河。正对着我的窗有澄净的，圆圆的月亮，穿过杏色的穹苍，她不会照耀城市；由于城市太亮。城市有白色的灯放射着冷光。我站在窗边望着月亮，她太冷淡而不辉煌，但我爱她，月亮是我的故人，城市在异乡。These Things Shall Never Die 这些美好不会消逝By --Charles Dickens/查尔斯.狄更斯The pure.the bright,the beautiful, 一切纯洁的,辉煌的,美丽的,That stirred our hearts in youth, 强烈地震撼着我们年轻的心灵的,The impulses to wordless prayer, 推动着我们做无言的祷告的,The dreams of love and truth; 让我们梦想着爱与真理的;The longing after something's lost, 在失去后为之感到珍惜的,The spirit's yearning cry, 使灵魂深切地呼喊着的,The striving after better hopes- 为了更美好的梦想而奋斗着的-These things can never die. 这些美好不会消逝。The timid hand stretched forth to aid 羞怯地伸出援助的手，A brother in his need, 在你的弟兄需要的时候，A kindly word in grief's dark hour 伤恸、困难的时候，一句亲切的话That proves a friend indeed ; 就足以证明朋友的真心；The plea for mercy softly breathed, 轻声地乞求怜悯，When justice threatens nigh, 在审判临近的时候，The sorrow of a contrite heart- 懊悔的心有一种伤感--These things shall never die. 这些美好不会消逝。Let nothing pass for every hand 在人间传递温情Must find some work to do ; 尽你所能地去做；Lose not a chance to waken love- 别错失去了唤醒爱的良机-----Be firm,and just ,and true; 为人要坚定，正直，忠诚；So shall a light that cannot fade因此上方照耀着你的那道光芒Beam on thee from on high. 就不会消失。And angel voices say to thee---你将听到天使的声音在说-----These things shall never die. 这些美好不会消逝。