I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life！To put to rout all that was not life. And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
We don't read and write poetry
because it's cute.
我们读诗写诗，非为它的灵巧
We read and write poetry because
we are members of the human race...
我们读诗写诗
因为我们是人类的一员
and the human race
is filled with passion.
而人类充满了热情
And medicine, law, business,
engineering...
医药，法律，商业，工程
these are noble pursuits
and necessary to sustain life.
这些都是高贵的理想
并且是维生的必需条件
But poetry, beauty...
romance, love...
但是诗，美，浪漫，爱
these are what we stay alive for.
这些才是我们生存的原因
To quote from Whitman...
引用惠特曼的诗
“O me, O life of the questions
of these recurring...
“啊！我！”
“这个问题不断重演的生命”
of the endless trains
of the faithless...
“在戴运无信者的绵延车厢中”
of cities filled with the foolish.
“在充满愚人的城市之中”
What good amid these
“身处其中的意义为何？”
O me, O life?”
“啊！我！啊！生命！”
=======================================
I went to the woods
我步入丛林
because I wanted to live deliberately,
因为我希望生活有意义
I wanted to live deep
我希望活得深刻
and suck out all the marrow of life,
吸取生命中的所有精华
把非生命的一切都击溃
and not when I had come to die,
以免当我生命终结
discover that I had not lived.
却发现自己从未活过
=======================================
Just when you think you know something,
you have to look at it in another way.
当你认为你知道某件事时
必须再以不同角度看它
Even though it may seem silly
or wrong, you must try!
即使那看来似乎愚笨或错误
你们都必须试试
Now, when you read, don't just consider
what the author thinks...
当你阅读时
别只想到作者的见解
consider what you think.
想想你的见解
Boys, you must strive to find
your own voice.
孩子们，你们必须…
努力寻找自己的声音
Because the longer you wait to begin,
the less likely you are
to find it at all.
因为你等候起步的时间愈长
便愈不可能找到它
Thoreau said, “Most men lead lives
of quiet desperation.”
梭罗说“大多数人都生活在平静的绝望中”
Don't be resigned to that.
Break out!
别听任此事发生
要突破！
Don't just walk off the edge
like lemmings. Look around you.
别像旅鼠般盲目由崖边跳下
环顾四周
---Gather ye rosebuds while ye may 及时采拮你的花蕾
Old time is still a flying 旧时光一去不回
And this same flower that smiles today 今天尚在微笑的花朵
Tomorrow will be dying. 明天便在风中枯萎
---Because we're food for worms, lads! 因为我们是蛆虫的食物
Because we're only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls. One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die!Stand up and peruse the faces of the boys who attended this school sixty or seventy years ago. Don't be timid, go look at them.
They're not that different than any of you, are they?There's hope in their eyes, just like in yours. They believe themselves destined for wonder
O Captain! My Captain!
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
--Walt Whitman
To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he’s a-getting;
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer heòs to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
--Robert Herrick
One Art
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
--Elizabeth Bishop
O Me! O Life!
O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
--Walt Whitman
The Prophet
Teach me to Love? go teach thyself more wit;
I chief Professor am of it....
The God of Love, if such a thing there be,
May learn to love from Me.
He who does boast that he has been
In every Heart since Adamòs sin,
I’ll lay my Life, nay Mistress on’t that’s more;
I teach him thing he never knew before;
--Cowley
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;,...
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
--Alfred Lord Tennyson
Ulysses
...Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world...
for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset,...
and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
--Tennyson
An Excerpt From Walden
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to confront only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to “glorify God and enjoy him forever.”
--Henry David Thoreau
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
--Robert Frost
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice,
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To day that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice
--Robert Frost
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
--Robert Frost
Untitled Poem
Stop the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let airplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message, “He is Dead.”
Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East, and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
--WH Auden
From Song of Myself –Section 52
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
--Walt Whitman
Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thout are more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmied:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st.
Nor shall death brag though wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
--William Shakespeare
She Walks In Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
--Lord Byron
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this—and all is mended--
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to escape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all,
Give me your hand, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
--William Shakespeare
死亡诗社中的优美诗句
字体: 小 中 大 | 打印 发表于: 2008-5-04 22:11 作者: Aoba 来源: 紫金香
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