unit4agardenofpoemsintegratingangwriting(nx)-資料下載頁
2024-11-18 01:38本頁面
【導(dǎo)讀】Thatquestionis. IsingwhenIfeelgood…greys…Ialsolikereading…aboutsongs&poems.ones.theexam.couldn’tgetthroughtoyou.boredme.yourmark.discussion.singingsongs?Why?What’syourfavoritesong?I’mabigbiggirl,Inabigbig_____.It’snotabigbig_____.Ifyou_____me,much,missyoumuch.LikethewayI’mfeelinginside.I’mabigbiggirl,Inabigbig______.It’snotabigbig______.Ifyou______me,much,missyoumuch.Outsideit’snow_______,_______.I’mabigbiggirl,Inabigbig_____.It’snotabigbig______.Ifyou_____me,youmuch.Woohlikefire.
【正文】 them their old shadowy sound. Often 39。tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be mov39。d for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of Heaven were unbound. Oh ye! who have your eyeballs vex39。d and tir39。d, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea。 Oh ye! who have your eyeballs vex39。d and tir39。d, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea。 Oh ye! whose ears are dinn39。d with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody Sit ye near some old Cavern39。s Mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the seanymphs quir39。d! John Keats A SOLDIER He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled, That lies unlifted now, e dew, e rust, But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust. If we who sight along it round the world, See nothing worthy to have been its mark, It is because like men we look too near, Fetting that as fitted to the sphere, Our missiles always make too short an arc. They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect The curve of earth, and striking, break their own。 They make us cringe for metalpoint on stone. But this we know, the obstacle that checked And tripped the body, shot the spirit on Further than target ever showed or shone. Robert Frost The Isles of Greece The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero39。s harp, the lover39。s lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse。 Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires39。 Islands of the Blest. The mountains look on Marathon And Marathon looks on the sea。 And musing there an hour alone, I dream39。d that Greece might yet be free For, standing on the Persians39。 grave, I could not deem myself a slave. Gee Gordon Byro
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