¸ÅÒª£ºThe poetry of earth is never dead.When all the birds are faint with the hot sunAnd hide in cooling trees, a voice will runFrom hedge to hedge about the newª²mown meadThat is the Grasshopper¡¯s. He takes the leadIn summer luxury; he has never doneWith his delights, for when tired out with funHe rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.The poetry of earth is ceasing never.On a lone winter evening, when the frostHas wrought a silence, from the stove there shrillsThe cricket¡¯s song, in warmt

¾ÅÄ꼶µÚÒ»µ¥Ôª£¨¡¶ÇßÔ°´ºÑ©¡·¡¶Óê˵¡·¡¶ÐÇÐDZä×àÇú¡·¡¶Íâ¹úÊ«Á½Êס·£©µ¼Ñ§°¸ (È˽̰æ¾ÅÄ꼶Éϲá),±êÇ©£ºÓïÎÄѧ°¸´óÈ«,http://www.51jxk.com
¡¡The poetry of earth is never dead.
¡¡When all the birds are faint with the hot sun
¡¡And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
¡¡From hedge to hedge about the newª²mown mead
¡¡That is the Grasshopper¡¯s. He takes the lead
¡¡In summer luxury; he has never done
¡¡With his delights, for when tired out with fun
¡¡He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
¡¡The poetry of earth is ceasing never.
¡¡On a lone winter evening, when the frost
¡¡Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
¡¡The cricket¡¯s song, in warmth increasing ever£¬
¡¡And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
¡¡The grasshopper¡¯s among some grassy hills.



¡¾½Ì£¨Ñ§£©ºó¼Ç¡¿
 

ÁºÐËÐË

ÉÏÒ»Ò³  [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]