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1、5首美丽的英文诗I wish I could remember by Christina Rossetti I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me, If bright or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to m
2、ark the budding of my tree That would not blossom for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such A day of days! I let it come and go As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; If only now I could recall that touch, First touch of hand in handDid one but kn
3、ow! Never give all the heart by W. B. Yeats Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything thats lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O never give the heart
4、 outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost. Nothing to Save by D. H. Lawrence There is nothing to save, now
5、all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet. To the Moon by Percy Bysshe Shelley Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,- And ever changing, like a joyless eye Th
6、at finds no object worth its constancy? What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that ta
7、p and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.
