7年级简单的英文诗欣赏

通过英语诗歌学英语,改变大学英语教学内容与诗歌学习无缘的状态,是和提高学生英语学习积极性、增强大学英语教学效果、提高学生英语交际能力的目的相辅相成。小编精心收集了7年级简单的英文诗，供大家欣赏学习!

Real Life

by Lucie Brock-Broido

Soon the electrical wires will grow heavy under the snow.

I am thinking of fire of the possibility of fire & then moving

Across America in a car with a powder blue dashboard，

Moving to country music & the heart

Is torn a little more because the song says the truth.

Because in the thirty-six things that can happen

To people， men & women， women & women，

Men & men， in all these things the soul is bound

To be broken somewhere along the line，

That clove-scented， air-colored wanderer blushing

With no memory， no inkling & then proceeds

Across America

In the sap green of the tropics，

Toward the cadmium of a bitter sunrise to a new age，

At the white impossible ice hour， starving，

Past the electric blue of the rivers melting down，

Above the nude， snuff， terra cotta， maybe fire，

Over the tiny fragile mound of finger bones

Of an Indian who died standing up，

Through the heliotrope of a song about the sunset，

To live the thirty-six things

& never comes home.

Skating in Harlem, Christmas Day

by Cynthia Zarin

To Mary Jo Salter

Beyond the ice-bound stones and bucking trees，

past bewildered Mary， the Meer in snow，

two skating rinks and two black crooked paths

are a battered pair of reading glasses

scratched by the skater's multiplying math.

Beset， I play this game of tic-tac-toe.

Divide， subtract. Who can tell if love surpasses?

Two naughts we've learned make one astonished 0——

a hectic night of goats and compasses.

Folly tells the truth by what it's not——

one X equals a fall I'd not forgo.

Are ice and fire the integers we've got?

Skating backwards tells another story——

the risky star above the freezing town，

a way to walk on water and not drown.

Sitting Outside

by W. D. Snodgrass

These lawn chairs and the chaise lounge

of bulky redwood were purchased for my father

twenty years ago， then plumped down in the yard

where he seldom went when he could still work

and never had stayed long. His left arm

in a sling， then lopped off， he smoked there or slept

while the weather lasted， watched what cars passed，

read stock reports， counted pills，

then dozed again. I didn‘t go there

in those last weeks， sick of the delusions

they still maintained， their talk of plans

for some boat tour or a trip to the Bahamas

once he‘d recovered. Under our willows，

this old set‘s done well： we’ve sat with company，

read or taken notes—although the arm rests

get dry and splintery or wheels drop off

so the whole frame‘s weakened if it’s hauled

across rough ground. Of course the trees，

too， may not last： leaves storm down，

branches crack off， the riddled bark

separates， then gets shed. I have a son， myself，

with things to be looked after. I sometimes think

since I‘ve retired， sitting in the shade here

and feeling the winds shift， I must have been filled

with a child dread you could catch somebody‘s dying

if you got too close. And you can‘t be too sure.

Reapers

by Jean Toomer

Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones

Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones

In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done，

And start their silent swinging， one by one.

Black horses drive a mower through the weeds，

And there， a field rat， startled， squealing bleeds.

His belly close to ground. I see the blade.

Blood-stained， continue cutting weeds and shade.

Red Pens

by Tony Towle

The little Hispanic girl at the stationer's

on Park Avenue South just now

asked me my name， and repeated Tonio

when I replied Tony. ?Estranjero?

Is he a foreigner?

she asked her embarrassed mother，

the proprietor， as I was leaving with

the red pens I had bought

for editing English but now

used to delete the No，

fué nacido aquí

I had been about to say，

to show that I too was a native.

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