On Beautiful English Poetry 1
The second ing
massive
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
Turn and turn in the expanding vortex.
Falcons have been circling in larger and larger circles.
Falcons can't hear the voice of falconers;
Never hear the call of the falconer again;
Things fall apart; The centrists can't hold on;
Everything falls apart; The center is difficult to tie;
Only anarchy is released in the world,
There is only one fragmented theory in the world,
The tide of darkening blood dispersed and was everywhere.
The tide of bloody chaos is surging,
The ceremony of innocence was drowned out;
Naive etiquette, but also endure the annihilation of blood waves;
The best people lack faith, while the worst people lack faith.
The best people have no confidence, and the worst people have no confidence.
Full of passion.
But restless.
Of course, some revelations are just around the corner;
To be sure, some kind of revelation is just around the corner;
There is no doubt that the second era is coming.
What is certain is that the second coming of Christ is just around the corner.
The second ing! These words are not finished yet.
The second coming of Christ! Didn't say anything,
When a huge image comes from the spirit of the world.
A huge image appears in people's minds.
Disturbing my sight: somewhere in the desert
It blinded me: in the desert,
The shape of a sphinx,
A corpse with a sphinx.
Staring blankly and mercilessly like the sun,
Eyes as blank and heartless as the scorching sun.
Is moving its slow thighs, while everything around it
Is slowly moving his legs and feet, being
The scroll shadow of angry desert birds.
The shadow of angry desert birds.
Darkness came again; But now I know.
Darkness came again; But now I know.
Deep sleep in the twentieth century
The rock-like sleep of the past two thousand years
Tortured by a rocking cradle into a nightmare,
Rocked into a nightmare by a cradle,
What a rough beast, its time is finally over,
What a rude beast, it's time,
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born?
Walking lazily to Bethlehem to be reborn.
Beautiful English Poetry II
Elegy written in a rural cemetery
Elegy of rural cemetery
Thomas Grey
Thomas Grey
The curfew sounded the death knell of parting,
The late bell rang the death knell of farewell day,
Cleisthenes's herds circled slowly on the grassland,
Baa baa sheep are walking slowly on the grass.
The farmer trudged home wearily,
The farmer hobbled home tired.
Leave the world to darkness and me.
Leave the whole world to me and darkness.
Now the flickering scenery in front of us has gradually faded away.
At this moment, the earth is shining and slowly fading away.
The solemn air hangs over everything,
There was silence and solemnity all around,
Except where beetles hum,
I only heard beetles buzzing in the air,
The sleepy jingle calmed the distant folds;
Heavy * * * hypnotized the sheepfold in the distance.
Save it from the ivy-covered tower over there,
I only heard that on the ivy-covered tower over there,
The melancholy owl is on the moon plain,
A melancholy owl complained to the moon,
Like wandering around her secret gazebo,
Complaining that someone was wandering around her secret boudoir,
Harassing her ancient lonely rule.
Disturbed her ancient and quiet courtyard.
Under those rugged elms, the shadow of yew trees,
Under the old elm tree, in the shadow of yew,
Pile up the turf in piles,
Many wasteland mounds on rotten grass,
Everyone is always lying in a small cell,
One by one, lying in a small cellar forever,
Hamlet's primitive ancestors slept.
The common ancestors in the village rest in peace here.
Breathing the call of the morning breeze with incense,
The fragrant morning breeze gently calls,
Swallows are chirping in the shed made of straw.
Whispering of swallows on the thatched shed,
The cock's sharp horn, or the echo horn,
The horn echoes, or the rooster crows loudly.
Never wake them up from their humble beds again.
Never wake them up from bed again.
For them, the blazing fire will no longer burn,
The blazing fire will no longer burn for them,
Or busy housewives are busy with evening care;
Housewives don't work for them at night,
No children went to babble that their father was back,
The child stopped shouting and ran to welcome his father home.
Or climb on his knee and share that enviable kiss.
No more kissing and coquetry on your knees.
Their sickles often harvest crops,
Once upon a time, they used sickles to grab a bumper harvest.
Their stubborn furrow has been broken;
The hardened clods are plowed into ridges and ditches;
How happy they are to drive their team to other places!
How happy they are to drive the animals into the fields!
How crooked the Woods are under their powerful blows!
Strong cutting power makes trees bow!
Don't let ambition mock their beneficial hard work,
Don't let ambition laugh at their useful efforts.
Their ordinary happiness and vague fate;
The joy of home and the fate of obscurity;
Nor did he hear a contemptuous smile,
Don't let "luxury" with a contemptuous sneer.
A concise chronicle of the poor.
Listen to the simple and short life of the poor.
The ostentation of heraldry, the pomp of power,
A flamboyant family, prominent power,
All the beauty, all the wealth,
Everything that beauty and wealth give,
Waiting for the inevitable moment.
Also waiting for the inevitable result:
The glorious road only leads to the grave.
The glorious road will eventually lead to the grave.
On Beautiful English Poetry 3
Old black Joe
Old black Joe
Stephen collins. encourage
Stephen Collins Foster
Gone are the days when my heart was young and happy;
Gone are the days when you were young and carefree.
My friends left the cotton field;
My partner also left the cotton field.
Leaving the earth for a better place I know,
Get out of here and go to a better place, I know.
I heard their gentle voices shouting, "Old Black Joe!"
I heard them calling softly.
I am crying, I am crying, because my head is bent very low;
I'm coming, I'm coming, because my head is drooping;
I heard their gentle voices calling,
I heard them calling softly.
"Old Black Joe!"
Old black Joe!
Why do I cry when my heart is no longer painful?
Why am I crying? I am not sad in my heart.
Why do I sigh that my friend is no longer?
Why should I sigh that my other half will never come again?
Sorrow for a form that has long since passed away,
Just to remember the dead,
I heard their gentle voices calling,
I heard them calling softly.
"Old Black Joe!"
Old black Joe!
Where are your hearts, once so happy and free?
People who used to be happy and carefree are now at home?
The children are so cute that I hold them in my lap.
Besides, I put it on my knee. Cute little guy?
Went to the coast where my soul longed to go,
They all reached the shore that my soul longed for,
I heard their gentle voices calling,
I heard them calling softly.
"Old Black Joe!"
Old black Joe!