優秀優美的短篇的英語詩歌
英語的小學是涉及到很多的領域，英語的詩歌就是一種，今天小編就給大家分享一下英語詩歌，有時間的一定要來學習看看吧
Whatever You Say, Say Nothing
"Religion's never mentioned here", of course.
"You know them by their eyes," and hold your tongue.
"One side's as bad as the other," never worse.
Christ, it's near time that some small leak was sprung
In the great dykes the Dutchman made
To dam the dangerous tide that followed Seamus.
Yet for all this art and sedentary trade
I am incapable. The famous
Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
And times: yes, yes. Of the "wee six" I sing
Where to be saved you only must save face
And whatever you say, you say nothing.
Smoke-signals are loud-mouthed compared with us:
Manoeuvrings to find out name and school,
Subtle discrimination by addresses
With hardly an exception to the rule
That Norman, Ken and Sidney signalled Prod
And Seamus (call me Sean) was sure-fire Pape.
O land of password, handgrip, wink and nod,
Of open minds as open as a trap,
Where tongues lie coiled, as under flames lie wicks,
Where half of us, as in a wooden horse
Were cabin'd and confined like wily Greeks,
Besieged within the siege, whispering morse.
Is Heaven a Physician?
Is Heaven a Physician?
Is Heaven a Physician?
They say that He can heal -
But Medicine Posthumous
Is unavailable -
Is Heaven an Exchequer1?
They speak of what we owe -
But that negotiation
I’m not a Party to -
天堂是個醫生嗎?
天堂是個醫生嗎?
他們說他能治病;
但死後的醫藥
是沒有效用的。
天堂是國庫嗎?
他們談及我們欠的債;
可是那談判
我沒參加。
Digging
Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.
Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.
My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
挖掘
在我手指和大拇指中間
一支粗壯的筆躺着，舒適自在像一支槍。
我的窗下，一個清晰而粗厲的響聲
鐵鏟切進了礫石累累的土地：
我爹在挖土。我向下望
看到花坪間他正使勁的臀部
彎下去，伸上來，二十年來
穿過白薯壟有節奏地俯仰着，
他在挖土。
粗劣的靴子踩在鐵鏟上，長柄
貼着膝頭的內側有力地撬動，
他把表面一層厚土連根掀起，
把鐵鏟發亮的一邊深深埋下去，
使新薯四散，我們撿在手中，
愛它們又涼又硬的味兒。
說真的，這老頭子使鐵鏟的巧勁
就像他那老頭子一樣。
我爺爺的土納的泥沼地
一天挖的泥炭比誰個都多。
有一次我給他送去一瓶牛奶，
用紙團鬆鬆地塞住瓶口。他直起腰喝了，馬上又幹開了，
利索地把泥炭截短，切開，把土.
撩過肩，爲找好泥炭，
一直向下，向下挖掘。
白薯地的冷氣，潮溼泥炭地的
咯吱聲、咕咕聲，鐵鏟切進活薯根的短促聲響
在我頭腦中迴盪。
但我可沒有鐵鏟像他們那樣去幹。
在我手指和大拇指中間
那支粗壯的筆躺着。
我要用它去挖掘。
