描写秋天的外国诗歌【一】
If you were coming in the Fall,
I’d brush the summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly。
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls— 描写秋天的诗歌
And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse—
If only Centuries, delayed,
I’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman’s Land。
If certain, When this life was out—
That your’s and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity—
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state-it’s sting。
描写秋天的外国诗歌【二】
A touch of cold in the Autumn night
一缕清寒在秋夜中飘荡漫步出门，
I walked abroad, And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge Like a red faced farmer.
见一轮红月倚在树篱上， 犹如一个红脸膛的.农夫。
Into Van Dieman’s Land。
If certain, When this life was out—
That your’s and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity—
But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee—
That will not state-it’s sting。
描写秋天的外国诗歌【二】
A touch of cold in the Autumn night
一缕清寒在秋夜中飘荡漫步出门，
I walked abroad, And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge Like a red faced farmer.
见一轮红月倚在树篱上， 犹如一个红脸膛的.农夫。
I did not stop to speak, but nodded, And round about were the wistful stars
我没有停下来说话，只点了点头， 四周是深思的繁星，
With white faces like town children.
白皙的脸，像城市中的孩童。
描写秋天的外国诗歌【三】
1
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun,
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
我没有停下来说话，只点了点头， 四周是深思的繁星，
With white faces like town children.
白皙的脸，像城市中的孩童。
描写秋天的外国诗歌【三】
1
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun,
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair sort-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Dows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers.
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair sort-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Dows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers.
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a waiful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles form a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
描写秋天的外国诗歌【四】
A touch of cold in the autumn night
I walked abroad
And saw the ruddy man lean over a hedge
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a waiful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles form a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
描写秋天的外国诗歌【四】
A touch of cold in the autumn night
I walked abroad
And saw the ruddy man lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer
I did not stop to speak, but nodded
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children
I did not stop to speak, but nodded
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children
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