文學史家認定英國浪漫主義詩歌以五大詩人為代表，他們是：William Wordsworth,1770-1850; Samuel T. Coleridge,1772-1850; George G. Byron, 1788-1824; Percy B. Shelley, 1792-1822; John Keats, 1795-1821。20世紀後期，英國文學史家認為英國浪漫主義詩歌的主要成員還應加上William Blake, 1757-1827，因此，這六人被稱為英國浪漫主義詩歌之六巨擘⋯⋯2018-06-25 13:22:36 回应
My heart cahes, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness-
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
Oh, for a draught of vintage! That hath been
Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
Oh, for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth,
That I might drink,and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eye despairs:
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow.
Away! away! For I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! Tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Clustered around by all her starry fays:
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darking I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To,cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn.
Forlorn! The very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! The fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! Thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: --Do I wake or sleep?
在附近的密林幽谷⋯⋯2018-06-25 14:52:15 回应
你們在世上所知道、該知道的一切。2018-06-25 15:06:44 回应
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor ther downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
便稱為她的戰利品，懸掛在雲霄2018-06-25 15:20:49 回应
O Chatterton, how very sad thy fate!
Dear child of sorrow-- son of misery!
How soon the film of death obscured that eye,
Whence genius wildly flashed, and high debate.
How soon that voice,maijestic and elate,
Melted in dying murmurs! Oh, how nigh
Was night to thy fair morning! Thou didst die
A half - blown floweret which cold blasts amate.
But this is past; thou art among the stars
Of highest heaven; to the rolling spheres
Thou sweetly singest; naught thy hymning mars,
Above the ingrate world and human fears.
On earth the good man base detraction bars
From thy fair name and waters it with tears.
貶損，用淚水灌溉你身後的美譽2018-06-25 15:31:53 回应
How mant bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy - I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime;
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion, 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumbered sounds that evening store:
The songs of birds, the whispering of the leaves,
The voice of waters, the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound, and thousand others more
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar2018-06-25 15:43:56 回应
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven, to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass and reads a debonaie
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel, an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.2018-06-25 15:50:24 回应
Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving - Kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood.
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a 'singleness of aim'
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money - mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and Malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.2018-06-25 15:57:39 回应
The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More hearkning to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some black spell,seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp;
That 'tis their sighing, wailing ere they go
Into oblivion; that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.
壯麗不朽的事物會接踵而來2018-06-25 20:46:49 1人喜欢 回应
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead
That is the grasshopper's; he takes the lead
In summer luxury; he has never done
With his delights, for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The grasshopper's among some grassy hills2018-06-25 20:54:13 回应
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