英国名家经典诗歌2篇

诗歌是世界上最古老最基本的文学形式,是语言艺术最高的表现形式。下面是读文网小编为大家带来英国名家经典诗歌，希望大家喜欢!

英国名家经典诗歌：老虎

布莱克

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

老虎!老虎!黑夜的森林中

燃烧着的煌煌的火光，

是怎样的神手或天眼

造出了你这样的威武堂堂?

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?

你炯炯的两眼中的火

燃烧在多远的天空或深渊?

他乘着怎样的翅膀搏击?

用怎样的手夺来火焰?

And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand and what dread feet?

又是怎样的膂力，怎样的技巧，

把你的心脏的筋肉捏成?

当你的心脏开始搏动时，

使用怎样猛的手腕和脚胫?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

是怎样的槌?怎样的链子?

在怎样的熔炉中炼成你的脑筋?

是怎样的铁砧?怎样的铁臂

敢于捉着这可怖的凶神?

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?

群星投下了他们的投枪。

用它们的眼泪润湿了穹苍，

他是否微笑着欣赏他的作品?

是否他创造了你，也创造了羔羊?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

群星投下了他们的投枪。

用它们的眼泪润湿了穹苍，

他是否微笑着欣赏他的作品?

是否他创造了你，也创造了羔羊?

英国名家经典诗歌：暗处的鸫鸟

托马斯·哈代

I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-gray,

And Winter's dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.

我倚在以树丛做篱的门边，

寒霜像幽灵般发灰，

冬的沉渣使那白日之眼

在苍白中更添憔悴。

纠缠的藤蔓在天上划线，

宛如断了的琴弦，

而出没附近的一切人类

都已退到家中火边。

The land's sharp features seemed to be

The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

陆地轮廓分明，望去恰似

斜卧着世纪的尸体，

阴沉的天穹是他的墓室，

风在为他哀悼哭泣。

自古以来萌芽生长的冲动

已收缩得又干又硬，

大地上每个灵魂与我一同

似乎都已丧失热情。

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

突然间，头顶上有个声音

在细枝萧瑟间升起，

一曲黄昏之歌满腔热情

唱出了无限欣喜，----

这是一只鸫鸟，瘦弱、老衰，

羽毛被阵风吹乱，

却决心把它的心灵敞开，

倾泻向浓浓的黑暗。

So little cause for carolings

Of such eCStatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.

远远近近，任你四处寻找，

在地面的万物上

值得欢唱的原因是那么少，

是什么使它欣喜若狂?

这使我觉得：它颤音的歌词，

它欢乐曲晚安曲调

含有某种幸福希望----为它所知

而不为我所晓。