下面小编为大家带来外国诗歌欣赏，本文共11篇，希望大家能够受用!
篇1：外国诗歌欣赏
英雄 THE HERO
MOTHER， let us imagine we are travelling， andpassing through a strange and dangerous country.
妈妈，让我们想象我们正在旅行，经过一个陌生而危险的国土。
You are riding in a palanquin and I am trotting byyou on a red horse.
你坐在一顶轿子里，我骑着一匹红马，在你旁边跑着。
It is evening and the sun goes down. The waste of Joradighi lies wan and grey before us. Theland is desolate and barren.
是黄昏的时候，太阳已经下山了。约拉地希的荒地疲乏而灰暗地展开在我们面前，大地是凄凉而荒芜的。
You are frightened and thinking--“I know not where we have come to.”
你害怕了，想道——“我不知道我们到了什么地方了。”
I say to you， “Mother， do not be afraid.”
我对你说道：“妈妈，不要害怕。”
The meadow is prickly with spiky grass， and through it runs a narrow broken path.
草地上刺蓬蓬地长着针尖似的草，一条狭而崎岖的小道通过这块草地。
There are no cattle to be seen in the wide field; they have gone to their village stalls.
在这片广大的地面上看不见一只牛;它们已经回到它们村里的牛棚去了。
It grows dark and dim on the land and sky， and we cannot tell where we are going.
天色黑了下来，大地和天空都显得朦朦胧胧的，而我们不能说出我们正走向什么所在。
Suddenly you call me and ask me in a whisper， “What light is that near the bank?”
突然间，你叫我，悄悄地问我道：“靠近河岸的是什么火光呀?”
Just then there bursts out a fearful yell， and figures come running towards us.
正在那个时候，一阵可怕的呐喊声爆发了，好些人影子向我们跑过来。
You sit crouched in your palanquin and repeat the names of the gods in prayer.
你蹲坐在你的轿子里，嘴里反复地祷念着神的名字。
The bearers， shaking in terror， hide themselves in the thorny bush.
轿夫们，怕得发抖，躲藏在荆棘丛中。
I shout to you， “Don't be afraid， mother. I am here.”
我向你喊道：“不要害怕，妈妈，有我在这里。”
With long sticks in their hands and hair all wild about their heads， they come nearer and nearer.
他们手里执着长棒，头发披散着，越走越近了。
I shout， “Have a care! you villains! One step more and you are dead men.”
我喊道：“要当心!你们这些坏蛋!再向前走一步，你们就要送命了。”
They give another terrible yell and rush forward.
他们又发出一阵可怕的呐喊声，向前冲过来。
You clutch my hand and say， “Dear boy， for heaven's sake， keep away from them.”
你抓住我的手，说道：“好孩子，看在上天面上，躲开他们罢。”
I say， “Mother， just you watch me.”
我说道：“妈妈，你瞧我的。”
Then I spur my horse for a wild gallop， and my sword and buckler clash against each other.
于是我刺策着我的马匹，猛奔过去，我的剑和盾彼此碰着作响。
The fight becomes so fearful， mother， that it would give you a cold shudder could you see itfrom your palanquin.
这一场战斗是那么激烈，妈妈，如果你从轿子里看得见的话，你一定会发冷战的。
Many of them fly， and a great number are cut to pieces.
他们之中，许多人逃走了，还有好些人被砍杀了。
I know you are thinking， sitting all by yourself， that your boy must be dead by this time.
我知道你那时独自坐在那里，心里正在想着，你的孩子这时候一定已经死了。
But I come to you all stained with blood， and say， “Mother， the fight is over now.”
但是我跑到你的跟前，浑身溅满了鲜血，说道：“妈妈，现在战争已经结束了。”
You come out and kiss me， pressing me to your heart， and you say to yourself，
你从轿子里走出来，吻着我，把我搂在你的心头，你自言自语地说道：
“I don't know what I should do if I hadn't my boy to escort me.”
“如果我没有我的孩子护送我，我简直不知道怎么办才好。”
A thousand useless things happen day after day， and why couldn't such a thing come true bychance?
一千件无聊的事天天在发生，为什么这样一件事不能够偶然实现呢?
It would be like a story in a book.
这很像一本书里的一个故事。
My brother would say， “Is it possible? I always thought he was so delicate!”
我的哥哥要说道：“这是可能的事么?我老是在想，他是那么嫩弱呢!”
Our village people would all say in amazement， “Was it not lucky that the boy was with hismother?”
我们村里的人们都要惊讶地说道：“这孩子正和他妈妈在一起，这不是很幸运么?”
篇2：外国诗歌欣赏
告别 THE END
IT is time for me to go， mother; I am going.
是我走的时候了，妈妈，我走了。
When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn youstretch out your arms for your baby in the bed， Ishall say， “Baby is not there!”--mother， I am going.
当清寂的黎明，你在暗中伸出双臂，要抱你睡在床上的孩子时，我要说道：“孩子不在那里呀!”——妈妈，我走了。
I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be ripples in the waterwhen you bathe， and kiss you and kiss you again.
我要变成一股清风抚摸着你;我要变成水的'涟漪，当你浴时，把你吻了又吻。
In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will hear my whisper in your bed，and my laughter will flash with the lightning through the open window into your room.
大风之夜，当雨点在树叶中淅沥时，你在床上，会听见我的微语，当电光从开着的窗口闪进你的屋里时，我的笑声也偕了它一同闪进了。
If you lie awake， thinking of your baby till late into the night， I shall sing to you from the stars， “Sleep mother， sleep.”
如果你醒着躺在床上，想你的孩子到深夜，我便要从星空向你唱道：“睡呀!妈妈，睡呀。”
On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed， and lie upon your bosom while yousleep.
我要坐在各处游荡的月光上，偷偷地来到你的床上，乘你睡着时，躺在你的胸上。
I shall become a dream， and through the little opening of your eyelids I shall slip into thedepths of your sleep; and when you wake up and look round startled， like a twinkling firefly Ishall flit out into the darkness.
我要变成一个梦儿，从你的眼皮的微缝中，钻到你睡眠的深处。当你醒来吃惊地四望时，我便如闪耀的萤火似地熠熠地向暗中飞去了。
When， on the great festival of puja， the neighbours' children come and play about the house， Ishall melt into the music of the flute and throb in your heart all day.
当普耶节日，邻舍家的孩子们来屋里游玩时，我便要融化在笛声里，整日价在你心头震荡。
Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask， “Where is our baby， sister? Mother， youwill tell her softly， ”He is in the pupils of my eyes， he is in my body and in my soul.“
亲爱的阿姨带了普耶礼来，问道：“我们的孩子在哪里，姊姊?”妈妈，你将要 柔声地告诉她：“他呀，他现在是在我的瞳仁里，他现在是在我的身体里，在我的灵魂里。”
篇3：外国著名诗歌欣赏
外国著名诗歌欣赏
诗歌欣赏A Purchase of Porcelain
Because the king
decrees that every Jew
must buy his wedding－right
in unsold porcelain
from the royal chinaworks，
here he stands， an amorous Jew，
gazing at luminous
suns and moons arrayed
on doths of velvet－blue，
earth that has married fire twice，
that has been shaped and named
for what it comprehends： sherbets， salads，
gravies， desserts． He lifts a platter fine
as alabaster in cathedral windows：
salvation， the passage of light
through bone． Ah， but
not for you， the store－man says．
Closeted， in shipping crates
are pieces no one else will buy
baboon fops in feathered caps，
chimpanzees in petticoats．
Visitors will later testify，
his home was comfortable，
despite the china apes
peering from every corner．
诗歌欣赏：Batuschka
From yonder gilded minaret
Beside the steel－blue Neva set，
I faintly catch， from time to time，
The sweet， aerial midnight chime——
”God save the Tsar！“
Above the ravelins and the moats
Of the white citadel it floats；
And men in dungeons far beneath
Listen， and pray， and gnash their teeth——
”God save the Tsar！“
The soft reiterations sweep
Across the horror of their sleep，
a term of endearment applied
to the Tsar in Russian folk－song．
As if some daemon in his glee
Were mocking at their misery——
”God save the Tsar！“
In his Red Palace over there，
Wakeful， he needs must hear the prayer．
How can it drown the broken cries
Wrung from his children's agonies?——
”God save the Tsar！“
Father they called him from of old——
Batuschka！ ． ． ． How his heart is cold！
Wait till a million scourged men
Rise in their awful might， and then——
God save the Tsar！
诗歌欣赏：Camma
Camma
（To Ellen Terry）
As one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made，
God with slim goddess， goodly man with maid，
And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day， must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss，
When in midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing， antique－limbed， and stern?
And yet － methinks I'd rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile， whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken， － come， great Egypt， shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants！ Nay，
I am grown sick of unreal passions， make
The world thine Actium， me thine Anthony！
诗歌欣赏：A Prayer for My Son
Bid a strong ghost stand at the head
That my Michael may sleep sound，
Nor cry， nor turn in the bed
Till his morning meal come round；
And may departing twilight keep
All dread afar till morning‘s back，
That his mother may not lack
Her fill of sleep．
Bid the ghost have sword in fist：
Some there are， for I avow
Such devilish things exist，
Who have planned his murder， for they know
Of some most haughty deed or thought
That waits upon his future days，
And would through hatred of the bays
Bring that to nought．
Though You can fashion everything
From nothing every day， and teach
The morning stars to sing，
You have lacked articulate speech
To tell Your simplest want， and known，
Wailing upon a woman‘s knee，
All of that worst ignominy
Of flesh and bone；
And when through all the town there ran
The servants of Your enemy，
A woman and a man，
Unless the Holy Writings lie，
Hurried through the smooth and rough
And through the fertile and waste，
Protecting， till the danger past，
With human love．
A Path Between Houses
Where is the dwelling place of light?
And where is the house of darkness?
Go about； walk the limits of the land．
Do you know a path between them?
Job 38：19－20
The enigma of August．
Season of dust and teenage arson．
The nightly whine of pickup trucks
bouncing through the sumac
beneath the Co－Operative power lines，
country & western booming from woofers
carved into the doors． A trace of smoke
when the wins shifts，
spun gravel rattling the fenders of cars，
the groan of clutch and transaxle，
pickup trucks， arriving at a friction point，
gunning from nowhere to nowhere．
The duets begin． A compact disc，
a single line of muted trumpet，
plays against the sirens
pursuing the smoke of grass fires．
I love a painter． On a new canvas，
she paints the neighbor's field．
She paints it without trees，
and paints the field beyond the field，
the field that has no trees，
and the upturned Jesus boat，
made into a planter，
”For God so loved the world． ． ．“
a citation from John， chapter and verse，
splattered across the bow
the boat spills roses into the weeds．
What does the stray dog know，
after a taste of what is holy?
The sun pulls her shadow toward me，
an undulant shape that shelters the grass，
an unaimed thing．
In the gray house， the tiny house，
in '52 there was a fire． The old woman，
drunk and smoking cigarettes， fell asleep．
The winter of the blizzard and her son
Not coming home from the Yalu．
There are times I still smell smoke．
There are days I know she set the fire
and why．
Last night， lightning to the south．
Here， nothing， though along the river
the wind upends a willow，
a gorgon of leaves and bottom－up clod
browning in the afternoon sun．
In the museum we dispute
the poet's epiphany call——
white light or more warmth?
And what is the Greek word for the flesh，
and the body apart from the spirit，
meaning even the body opposed to the spirit?
I do not know this word．
Dante claims there are pools of fire
in the middle regions of hell，
but the lowest circles are lakes of ice，
offering the hope our greatest sins
aren't the passions but indifference．
And the willow grew for years
With no real hold upon the ground．
How the accident occurred
and how the sky got dark：
Six miles from my house，
a drunk leaves the Holiday Inn
spins on 104 and smacks a utility pole．
The power line sparks
across the hood of his Ford
and illuminates the crazed spider web
of the windshield． His bloody tongue burns
with a slurry gospel． Around me，
the lights go down，
the way death is described
as armor crashing to the ground，
the soul having already departed
for another place． Was it his body I heard
leaning against the horn，
the body's final song， before the body
slumped sideways in the seat?
When I was a child，
I would wake at night
and imagine a field of asteroids， rolling
across the walls of my room．
In fact， I've seen them，
like the last herd of buffalo，
grazing against the background of fixed stars．
Plate 420 shows the asteroid 433 Eros，
the bright point of light， as it closes its approach
to light． I loose myself in Cygnus，
ancient kamikaze swan，
rising or diving to earth，
Draco， snarling at the polestar，
and Pegasus， stone horse of the gods，
ecstatic， looking one last time at home．
August and the enigma it is．
Days when I move in crabbed circles，
nights when I walk with Jesus through the fields．
What finally stands between us
and the world of flying things?
Mobbed by jays， the Cooper's hawk
drops the dead bird． It tumbles
beneath the cedar tree，
tiny acrobat of death，
a dead bird released
in a failed act of atonement．
A nest of wasps buzzing beneath the shingles，
flickers drilling the cottonwood，
jays， sparrows， the insistent wrens，
the language of birds， heads cocked，
staring the moon－eyed through the air．
Sedge， asters， and fleabane，
red tins of gasoline and glowing cigarettes，
the midnight voice of a fourteen－year－old girl
wailing the word ”blue“ from the pickup's open doors，
illuminated by the dome light，
the sulphurous rasp of another struck match，
and foxglove， goldenrod and chicory，
the dry flowers of late summer，
an exhaustion I no longer look at．
Time passes． The authorities
gather the wreckage， the whirr
of cicadas， and light dissembles the sky．
A wind shift， and the Cedar Creek fire
snaps the backfire line
and roars through the cemetery．
In the morning，
I walk a path between houses．
I cross to the water
and circle again， the redwings
forcing me back from the marsh．
Smoke rises from a fire
still smoldering along the power lines，
flaring and exhausting itself
in the shape of something lost．
Grass fires， fires through the scrub
of the clear－cut， fires in the pulpwood，
cemetery fires，
the powder of ash still untracked
beneath the enormous trees，
fires that explode the seed cones
on the pines， the smoke of set fires
and every good intention gone wrong，
scorching the monuments
above the graves of the dead．
诗歌欣赏：Bamboo Adobe
I sit along in the dark bamboo grove，
Playing the zither and whistling long．
In this deep wood no one would know
Only the bright moon comes to shine．
篇4：外国诗歌散文欣赏
语文：1.6《黑马》导读（新人教版07版选修《外国诗歌散文欣赏》）
陈超
《黑马》写于1960年，是布罗茨基早期诗歌的代表作。它不乏深刻的象征意味，却不是那类“以形象指代思想”的简单化的象征诗歌。在这里，形象自身有着独异的生命，而构成它的方法也是自足和坚实的。如果我们一味忽略形象本身而只关注、索解其“象征”内涵，则不免辜负了这首杰作在形式上的贡献。因此，对此诗的“能指”和“所指”我们要同样关注。
一个夜晚，难耐黑暗和寒冷的人们燃起了一堆篝火。此时，一匹黑马来到他们身边，诗人顿时感到一阵奇异的激动涌上心间。那真正逼退黑暗的不是短暂的火光，而是比黑暗更黑的马儿。这匹黑马无疑是“黑”的，但“它无法与黑暗融为一体”。它的“黑”不是弥漫的、向外的，而是内凝的、有着巨大压强的。它是地层深处的煤，是钟的内部，是地窖深处的籽实……充盈着紧张和悸动。它的毛色凝定不变，黑得更为高傲、独立、清醒；它的眼睛“射出黑色的光芒”，乃成为黑暗的离心部分。诗人曲尽形容，以能指的洪流描述了“如此漆黑，黑到了顶点”的马匹，它坚卓独立，“呼吸着黑色的空气”，直到也使“我的体内漆黑一团”。
黑马之黑“令人胆战”，更令人清醒。“它为何在我们中间停留？”“为何把压坏的树枝弄得瑟瑟发响？”“为何从眼中射出黑色的光芒？”诗人说，那是由于它的孤独，它的命运伙伴──骑手的缺席所致：“它那没有鞍子的脊背上/却是另外一种黑暗”。因此，它在无言地召唤着那些能够并敢于深入黑暗的核心的骑手，在茫茫的黑暗中寻索，在幽冥的征途上保持内心的方向感。“它在我们中间寻找骑手”，寻找能与黑暗对称和对抗的意志力。我们是否配骑上这匹黑马？在缄默中，诗人已从内心中挖掘出了答复。
此诗有如一具黑色的钢雕，以奇异的黑暗和寒冽直逼人心。全诗语象集中而强烈，围绕一个完整的语义单元反复隐喻、层层叠加。直到穷尽语象的全部意味，在结尾处诗人才返身“扛住”了能指的洪流，清晰地迸溅出钢錾与钢雕再次撞击后闪烁的火花。对这样的诗，我们应全心沉浸于语象自身的魔力之中，而它们的象征意义，自然会从语象中一点点地渗透出来。反之，如果我们一味跳离语象，急切地寻求“思想”，会给这个精纯的文本带来极大的损害。黑马（选自《当代外国诗歌佳作导读》，河北教育出版社XX年版）
篇5：我沿着初雪漫步外国经典诗歌欣赏
我沿着初雪漫步外国经典诗歌欣赏
我沿着初雪漫步，
心中的力量勃发像怒放的铃兰，
在我的道路上空，夜晚
把蓝色小蜡烛般的星星点燃。
我不知道那是光明还是黑暗？
密林中是风在唱还是公鸡在啼？
也许田野上并不是冬天，
而是许多天鹅落到了草地。
啊，白色的镜面的大地，你多美！
微微的寒意使我血液沸腾！
多么想让我那炽热的身体，
去紧贴白桦袒露的胸襟。
啊，森林的.郁郁葱葱的浑浊！
啊，白雪覆盖的原野的惬意！
多想在柳树的枝杈上，
也嫁接上我的两只手臂
篇6：外国经典诗歌
我这样频频地梦见你，
梦见我走了这样多的路，说了这样多的话，
这样地爱着你的影子，
以至从你，再也没有什么给我留下。
给我留下的是影子中的影子，
比那影子多过一百倍的影子，
是那将要来到和重新来到你的
充满阳光的生活中的影子。
篇7：外国经典诗歌
有一天，在暮霭中，我们走过，在雨后，
沿着公园的围墙，那儿美丽的树木在做梦……
我们久久地追随着。时间悄悄地过去，
黑夜的手在旧墙上缝补着裂缝……
但是在这苍白的时刻，什么烦扰着你，
什么在给那栅栏的黑色的手缀边呢?
暮霜、雨后的宁静，不知为什么
把我们的梦转向流放和黑夜……
我们听见了纷纭的喧响
发自周遭的簇叶，
犹如一堆正在着起来的火……
而枝条摇曳着。沉默
窥伺着。
而飘来的气味是如此强烈，
使人忘记了世界上还有别的气味，
因为这些气味仿佛就是生命自身的气味……
后来，一缕阳光染黄了一片叶子，
然后是两片，然后把所有的叶片染成金黄!
那时第一只鸟儿冒着险
在雨后
歌唱!
象从一盏熄灭的灯发散出的刺鼻的气味
从我的心里升起一个古老的梦……
一线光明仍然在墙头踯躅，
从一只安详的手里滑落，把我们引向暗影……
这是雨?是夜?
远远地，古老的黑色的脚步
移动着
沿着公园的围墙，在那儿，古老的树木正在做梦……
篇8：外国经典诗歌
这国度仅仅是一个
精神的意愿，一个
掘圣墓者。
在我的国度，春天温柔的见证
以及散羽的鸟群为遥远的目标
所钟情。
真理在一支蜡烛旁等待晨光。
窗玻璃不修边幅。殷勤有加。
在我的国度，人们从不质问一个
激动的人。
倾覆的小船上没有凶恶的阴影。
致候痛苦，在我的国度闻所未闻。
将因之增长的，人们才会借用。
叶子，许多叶子在树上，在我的
国度，树枝因不长果实而自由。
我们不信征服者的那套信仰。
在我的.国度，人们感激着。
篇9：外国经典诗歌
我饿极了，我睡在证据确凿的三伏天。我
羁旅漫行直至筋疲力尽，前额靠着干瘪的晒谷
场。为了热病不泛起阵痛，我窒息住它的参乎。
我抹去昏沉艏柱上它的数字。我一次次驳回。
杀戮近在身旁当世界想要变得更好。我灵魂的
雾月从未被翻越，谁在荒凉的羊棚里点起了火?
这不再是清寂黄昏那椭圆的意志。百万恶行呼
叫的双翼突然升起在昔时漫不经心的眼睛，向
我们显示你们的企图和弃置已久的内疚吧!
你显示吧;我们从未了结消瘦的群燕那崇
高的安逸。贪婪地靠近宽敞的轻盈。时间中俱
不确定惟有爱在扩大。不确定的他们，茕茕孓
立，于心之峰顶。
我饿极了。
篇10：外国诗歌
《雨》
突然间黄昏变得明亮
因为此刻正有细雨在落下
或曾经落下 下雨
无疑是在过去发生的一件事
谁听见雨落下 谁就回想起
那个时候 幸福的命运向他呈现了
一朵叫玫瑰的花
和它奇妙的 鲜红的色彩
这蒙住了窗玻璃的细雨
必将在被遗弃的郊外
在某个不复存在的庭院里洗亮了
架上的黑葡萄 潮湿的幕色
带给我一个声音 我渴望的声音
我的父亲回来了 他没有死去
The Rain
Jorge Luis Borges
The afternoon grows light because at last
Abruptly a minutely shredded rain
Is falling, or it fell. For once again
Rain is something happening in the past.
Whoever hears it fall has brought to mind
Time when by a sudden lucky chance
A flower called ”rose" was open to his glance
And the curious color of the colored kind.
This rain that blinds the windows with its mists
Will gladden in suburbs no more to be found
The black grapes on a vine there overhead
In a certain patio that no longer exists.
And the drenched afternoon brings back the sound
How longed for, of my father’s voice, not dead.
篇11：外国诗歌
那朵透明的花
他在孩子时闻见过
就在灵魂潜入时蓝色的水痕里
tansparente, la fleur qu’il a sentie ,enfant,
Au filigrane bleu de vame se greggant
――Stephane Mallarmee
Las de I’amer repos
★外国诗歌
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