优秀优美的短篇的英语诗歌
英语的小学是涉及到很多的领域，英语的诗歌就是一种，今天小编就给大家分享一下英语诗歌，有时间的一定要来学习看看吧
Whatever You Say, Say Nothing
"Religion's never mentioned here", of course.
"You know them by their eyes," and hold your tongue.
"One side's as bad as the other," never worse.
Christ, it's near time that some small leak was sprung
In the great dykes the Dutchman made
To dam the dangerous tide that followed Seamus.
Yet for all this art and sedentary trade
I am incapable. The famous
Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
And times: yes, yes. Of the "wee six" I sing
Where to be saved you only must save face
And whatever you say, you say nothing.
Smoke-signals are loud-mouthed compared with us:
Manoeuvrings to find out name and school,
Subtle discrimination by addresses
With hardly an exception to the rule
That Norman, Ken and Sidney signalled Prod
And Seamus (call me Sean) was sure-fire Pape.
O land of password, handgrip, wink and nod,
Of open minds as open as a trap,
Where tongues lie coiled, as under flames lie wicks,
Where half of us, as in a wooden horse
Were cabin'd and confined like wily Greeks,
Besieged within the siege, whispering morse.
Is Heaven a Physician?
Is Heaven a Physician?
Is Heaven a Physician?
They say that He can heal -
But Medicine Posthumous
Is unavailable -
Is Heaven an Exchequer1?
They speak of what we owe -
But that negotiation
I’m not a Party to -
天堂是个医生吗?
天堂是个医生吗?
他们说他能治病;
但死后的医药
是没有效用的。
天堂是国库吗?
他们谈及我们欠的债;
可是那谈判
我没参加。
Digging
Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.
Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.
My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
挖掘
在我手指和大拇指中间
一支粗壮的笔躺着，舒适自在像一支枪。
我的窗下，一个清晰而粗厉的响声
铁铲切进了砾石累累的土地：
我爹在挖土。我向下望
看到花坪间他正使劲的臀部
弯下去，伸上来，二十年来
穿过白薯垄有节奏地俯仰着，
他在挖土。
粗劣的靴子踩在铁铲上，长柄
贴着膝头的内侧有力地撬动，
他把表面一层厚土连根掀起，
把铁铲发亮的一边深深埋下去，
使新薯四散，我们捡在手中，
爱它们又凉又硬的味儿。
说真的，这老头子使铁铲的巧劲
就像他那老头子一样。
我爷爷的土纳的泥沼地
一天挖的泥炭比谁个都多。
有一次我给他送去一瓶牛奶，
用纸团松松地塞住瓶口。他直起腰喝了，马上又干开了，
利索地把泥炭截短，切开，把土.
撩过肩，为找好泥炭，
一直向下，向下挖掘。
白薯地的冷气，潮湿泥炭地的
咯吱声、咕咕声，铁铲切进活薯根的短促声响
在我头脑中回荡。
但我可没有铁铲像他们那样去干。
在我手指和大拇指中间
那支粗壮的笔躺着。
我要用它去挖掘。
