最优美的英文诗歌大全

每一个诗人都有自己的风格，每一个人也有自己喜欢的风格，总有一首诗歌曾让大家感叹。接下来搜集了最优美的英文诗歌大全，仅供大家参考，希望帮助到大家。

Spring Quiet

Gone were but the Winter,

Come were but the Spring,

I would go to a covert

Where the birds sing;

Where in the whitethorn

Singeth a thrush,

And a robin sings

In the holly-bush.

Full of fresh scents

Are the budding boughs

Arching high over

A cool green house;

Full of sweet scents,

And whispering air

Which sayeth softly:

"We spread no snare;

"Here dwell in safety,

Here dwell alone,

With a clear stream

And a mossy stone.

"Here the sun shineth Most shadily;

Here is heard an echo

Of the far sea,

Though far off it be."

A Red, Red Rose

O, my Luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June.

O, my Luve's like the melodie,

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in Luve am I,

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry!

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun!

I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!

And fare thee weel, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

When I Was One-and-Twenty

When I was one-and-twenty

heard a wise man say,

"Give crowns and pounds and guineas

But not your heart away;

Give pearls away and rubies

But keep your fancy free."

But I was one-and-twenty,

No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty

I heard him say again,

"The heart out of the bosom

Was never given in vain;

'Tis paid with sighs a plenty

And sold for endless rue."

And I am two-and-twenty,

And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

Lucy

She delt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

-- Fair as aa star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

If You Think You Are

If you think you are beaten, you are

If you think you dare not, you don't

If you think to win but you think you can't

It's almost certain you won't

If you think you'll lose, you've lost

For out of the world we find

Success begins with a person's will

It's all in the state of mind

If you think you're outclassed, you are

You've got to think height to rise

You've got to be sure of yourself

Before you can ever win a prize

Life's battles don't always go

To the stronger or faster man

But sooner or later the man who wins

Is the man WHO THINKS HE CAN!

Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune-without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

I have a stream,I think every day can be corourful.

The red is symbol our loving ,we can see the world be full loving.

The blue is symbol our thinking,we can see the world be full thinking.

And the world will be looking like deeping.

The yellow is symbol our horizon, because Stand tall so see farther.Every thing will be simpling.

The green is symple our growth,The frush air will be washing our lung.And the little stream will be quietly grow.

I have a stream,I think every day can be corourful.

I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.

No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is ,won't make you cry.

The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside them knowing you can't have them.

Never frown1, even when you are sad, because you never know who is falling in love with your smile.

To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.

Don't waste your time on a man/woman, who isn't willing2 to waste their time on you.

Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn’t mean they don't love you with all they have.

Don't try to hard, the best things come when you least expect them to.

Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one, so that when we finally meet the person, we will know how to be grateful3.

Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened.

by Thomas Heise

My birthright I have traded for a petal dress

and a summer eulogy． I have pawned my soul

for this opal ring， the color of a pale， taxidermied eye．

If I could carry calla lilies on my shoulder once more

like an umbrella in daylight， I would lean them

on the cemetery gate and sleep until the groundskeeper found me．

For some of us， beauty is carcinoma．

The saint‘s stigmata is god’s rose， bestowed

for forgoing a human lover， who will， of course， die．

I died last year． My mother made her tears into crystal

earrings and clipped them to my ears． “Son， you will

pay for your sin，“ my father spoke from his throne of glass．

Stars burn a sharp， white nacre until they evaporate．

The moon‘s flamingo unfolds her iodine wings over the broken city．

My necropolis． My teeth are the fruit of your olive tree．

Epistle from Mrs.Yonge to Her Husband

by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Think not this paper comes with vain pretense

To move your pity， or to mourn th' offense．

Too well I know that hard obdurate heat；

No softening mercy there will take my part，

Nor can a woman's arguments prevail，

When even your patron's wise example fails．

But this last privilege I still retain；

Th' oppressed and injured always may complain

Too， too severely laws of honor bind

The weak submissive sex of womankind．

If sighs have gained or force compelled our hand，

Deceived by art， or urged by stern command，

Whatever motive binds the fatal tie，

The judging world expects our constancy．

Just heaven！ （for sure in heaven does justice reign，

Though tricks below that sacred name profane）

To you appealing I submit my cause，

Nor fear a judgment from impartial laws．

All bargains but conditional are made；

The purchase void， the creditor unpaid；

Defrauded servants are from service free；

A wounded slave regains his liberty．

For wives ill used no remedy remains，

To daily racks condemned， and to eternal chains．

From whence is this unjust distinction grown?

Are we not formed with passions like your own?

Nature with equal fire our souls endued，

Our minds as haughty， and as warm as our blood；

O'er the wide world your pleasures you pursue，

The change is justified by something new；

But we must sigh in silence——and be true．

Our sex's weakness you expose and blame

（Of every prattling fop the common theme），

Yet from this weakness you suppose is due

Sublimer virtue that your Cato knew．

Had heaven designed us trials so severe，

It would have formed our tempers then to bear．

And I have borne （oh what have I not borne！）

The pang of jealousy， the insults of scorn．

Wearied at length， I from your sight remove，

And place my future hopes in secret love．

In the gay bloom of glowing youth retired，

I quit the woman's joy to be admired，

With that small pension your hard heart allows，

Renounce your fortune， and release your vows．

To custom （though unjust） so much is due；

I hide my frailty from the public view．

My conscience clear， yet sensible of shame，

My life I hazard， to preserve my fame．

And I prefer this low inglorious state

To vile dependence on the thing I hate——

But you pursue me to this last retreat．

Dragged into light， my tender crime is shown

And every circumstance of fondness known．

Beneath the shelter of the law you stand，

And urge my ruin with a cruel hand，

While to my fault thus rigidly severe，

Tamely submissive to the man you fear．

This wretched outcast， this abandoned wife，

Has yet this joy to sweeten shameful life：

By your mean conduct， infamously loose，

You are at once my accuser and excuse．

Let me be damned by the censorious prude

（Stupidly dull， or spiritually lewd），

My hapless case will surely pity find

From every just and reasonable mind．

When to the final sentence I submit，

The lips condemn me， but their souls acquit．

No more my husband， to your pleasures go，

The sweets of your recovered freedom know．

Go： court the brittle friendship of the great，

Smile at his board， or at his levee wait；

And when dismissed， to madam's toilet fly，

More than her chambermaids， or glasses， lie，

Tell her how young she looks， how heavenly fair，

Admire the lilies and the roses there．

Your high ambition may be gratified，

Some cousin of her own be made your bride，

And you the father of a glorious race

Endowed with Ch——l's strength and Low——r's face．

Buying Stock

by Denise Duhamel

"……The use of condoms offers substantial protection， but does not

guarantee total protection and that while

there is no evidence that deep kissing has resulted in

transfer of the virus， no one can say that such transmission

would be absolutely impossible．"

——The Surgeon General， 1987

I know you won't mind if I ask you to put this on．

It's for your protection as well as mine——Wait．

Wait． Here， before we rush into anything

I've bought a condom for each one of your fingers． And here——

just a minute——Open up．

I'll help you put this one on， over your tongue．

I was thinking：

If we leave these two rolled， you can wear them

as patches over your eyes． Partners have been known to cry，

shed tears， bodily fluids， at all this trust， at even the thought

of this closeness．．

Epithalamium

by Matthew Rohrer

In the middle garden is the secret wedding，

that hides always under the other one

and under the shiny things of the other one． Under a tree

one hand reaches through the grainy dusk toward another．

Two right hands． The ring is a weed that will surely die．

There is no one else for miles，

and even those people far away are deaf and blind．

There is no one to bless this．

There are the dark trees， and just beyond the trees．

Barrio with Sketchy Detail

by Andrea Werblin

Except for the chickens humming to each other，

making themselves look boneless in the dirt，

I want no memory of this place．

I will leave gingerly．

I will leave strung out．

I will leave rocking on my heels in unbearable heat．

the Mexican girls still faking and mourning Selena

from their perfect cement stoops，

not yet sworn to the anger hanging

from their papas' mouths like cigarettes．

I will leave stunned， from across the room．

I will leave by instinct， my tongue intact．

I will leave understanding it

was always coming， before that night， even

before we met． Marta will stand quiet， a glyph，

Pedro offer beer in cups． We'll sit．

When I leave， the sky will be a gouache of scratches，

the morning sluggish， a cactus flowering．

Or I will leave in blistered dark． It will still be true．

A Perfume

There were mice， and even

Smaller creatures holed up in the rafters．

One would raise its thumb， or frown，

And suddenly the clouds would part， and the whole

Fantastic contraption come tumbling down．

And the arcade of forgotten things

Closed in the winter， and the roller coaster

Stood empty as the visitors sped away

Down a highway that passed by an old warehouse

Full of boxes of spools and spoons．

I wonder if these small mythologies，

Whose only excuse for existing is to maintain us

In our miniscule way of life，

Might possibly be true? And even if they were，

Would it be right? Go find the moon

And seal it in the envelope of night．

The stars are like a distant dust

And what the giants left lies hidden in full view．

Brush your hair． Wipe the blood from your shoes．

Sit back and watch the firedance begin．

——So the rain falls in place，

The playground by the school is overrun with weeds

And we live our stories， filling up our lives

With souvenirs of the abandoned

Factory we have lingered in too long．

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