下载文档原格式
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d1When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,I mourn’d and yet shall mourn with ever-returning springLilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,And thought of him I love.2O powerful western fallen star!O shades of night----O moody, tearful night!O great star disappear’d ---- O the black murk that hides the star!O cruel hands that hold me powerless--- O helpless soul of me!O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.3In the dooryard fronting an old farm house near the whiteWash’d palings,Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heartshaped leaves of rich green,With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the per-fume strong I love.With every leaf a miracle- and from this bush in the door-yard.With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of Rich green,A sprig with its flower I break.4.In the swamp in secluded recesses,A sky and hidden bird is warbling a song.Solitary the thrush.The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements.Sings by himself a song.Song of the bleeding throat.Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,If thou waste not granted to sing thou would’s surely die. )5.Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities. Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violetsPeep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris,Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passingThe endless grass.Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from itsShroud in the dark-brown fields uprising, Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in theOrchards,Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, Night and day journeys a coffin.6Coffin that passed through lanes and streets, Through day and night with the great cloud darkening theLand.With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in Black,With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’dWomen standing,With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of famesAnd the unbarred heads,With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices ris-ing strong and solemn.With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around theCoffin,The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs ---- where amid these you journey,With the tolling tolling bells’perpetual clang,Her, coffin that slowly passes,I give you my sprig of lilac.7(Not for you, for one alone,Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for youO sane and sacred death.All over bouquets of roses,O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilacs. But mostly and now the lilac that blooms first, Copious I break I break the sprigs from the bushes, With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,For you and the coffins all of you O death.Song of MyselfI celebrate myself, and sing myself,And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.I loaf and invite my soul,I lean and lo far my ease observing a spear of summer grass.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and theirParents the same,I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.Creeds and schools in abeyance,Retiring back a white sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,Natur without check with ori ginal energy.。
惠特曼的诗歌英文作文英文：Walt Whitman, one of the most influential poets in American literature, is known for his unique style and themes in his poetry. His works often celebrate the beauty of nature, the value of individualism, and the importance of democracy. Whitman's poetry is characterized by free verse, which is a form of poetry that does not follow a specific rhyme or meter. This allows for a more natural and conversational tone in his writing.One of Whitman's most famous works is "Song of Myself," which is a long and complex poem that explores themes of identity, spirituality, and the interconnectedness of all things. In this poem, Whitman uses vivid imagery and unconventional language to convey his ideas. For example, he often uses metaphors and similes to describe the world around him, such as when he describes himself as "a vast similitude interlocks all" (section 1).Another notable aspect of Whitman's poetry is his use of repetition and lists. He often repeats phrases or words to emphasize their importance and create a sense of rhythm in his writing. For example, in "Song of Myself," he repeats the phrase "I celebrate myself" several times throughout the poem (sections 1, 20, and 52). He also uses lists to create a sense of abundance and inclusivity. In section 6 of the same poem, he lists a variety of people and professions, stating that "the butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes" and "the young fellow drives the express-wagon."Overall, Whitman's poetry is a celebration of life and humanity. His unique style and themes continue to influence poets and writers today.中文：沃尔特·惠特曼是美国文学中最具影响力的诗人之一，以其独特的风格和主题而闻名。
Whitman and his PoemsI. Review1.First, let’s read again the following,and try to think each of them: Example 1:When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most poetical sense in mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. (Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson, par. 3, p. 62)当我们这样谈论自然时，我们在心里有一种最明确但也最富诗意的意义。
我们指的是多种多样的自然物体所造成的印象的完整性，就是这一点使伐木工人的树枝和诗人的树枝区别开来。
Please read the following poem, and try to know the distinction of the willow twigs between the poet and timber of the wood-cutter.咏柳碧玉妆成一树高，万条垂下绿丝绦。
不知细叶谁裁出，二月春风似剪刀。
——唐贺知章“碧玉妆成一树高，万条垂下绿丝绦”，深深地抓着了垂柳的特征，在诗人的眼中，它似美女的化身。
高高的树干，就像她亭亭玉立的风姿，下垂的柳条，就像她裙摆上的丝带。
在这里，柳就是人，人就是柳，两者之间仿佛没有什么截然的分别。
而且“碧玉”也有双关的意义。
既在字面上与柳树的翠色相合，又指年轻貌美的少女，与下面的“二月春风”恰相呼应——这是早春的垂柳，还未到夏秋之际亭亭如盖、树荫清圆的时候。
海边幻想惠特曼英语原文Walt Whitman's poem "On the Beach at Night" is a beautiful piece of literature that captures the magic and serenity of the seaside. Here is the original English text:ON the beach at night,。
Stands a child with her father,。
Watching the east, the autumn sky.Up through the darkness,。
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,。
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,。
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,。
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,。
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,。
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,。
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,。
Watching, silently weeps.Weep not, child,。
Weep not, my darling,。
With these kisses let me remove your tears,。
高中英语阅读理解(人物故事)试题(有答案和解析)一、高中英语阅读理解人物故事类1．阅读理解The great-grandmother is learning English with the help of her family when she is at the age of 91. She hopes to use the language at next year's Olympic Games in Tokyo. Takamizawa was one of the more than 200, 00 people who requested to volunteer for Tokyo's 2020 Games. English is not required for service, but it is a useful skill for volunteers to have.But Takamizawa had not been able to learn the language when she was young. Takamizawa said that she was in high school when World War Two started. She said, "In my second year there, English was banned because it was the enemy language."Takamizawa said her grandchildren helped persuade her that she was not too old to learn. "When I talked to my grandchildren about my wish, they said, 'It's not too late. We will teach you one word a day' ". Natsuko is Takamizawa's granddaughter and main English teacher. Natsuko sends a new English word to her grandmother's phone every day. They also often work together directly on phrases that Takamizawa will need for the Olympics. "Welcome to Tokyo, this is the Olympic stadium, how can I help you?" Takamizawa answers when asked to say an English phrase she has learned. Natsuko explains that she wanted to give her grandmother something to enjoy. "I can clearly see her English is getting better. It's my joy now."The EF English Proficiency Index is a measure of the level of English spoken in a country. Japan ranks 49th among countries where English is not the first language. This situation is slowly changing as younger generations welcome English. However, Takamizawa believes real change will not happen unless Japanese people become more open to the rest of the world. With around 500 days to go until the games begin, the whole Takamizawa family is ready to welcome the world to Tokyo.（1）Why couldn't Takamizawa learn English when she was young?A. Because English was useless.B. Because she was too young to learn English.C. Because English was forbidden to learn.D. Because she was unwilling to learn English.（2）What can we know from the third paragraph?A. Takamizawa gets strong support from her family.B. Takamizawa's grandchildren love her a lot.C. Natsuko is Takamizawa's granddaughter and only English teacher.D. Natsuko teaches Takamizawa English mainly by talking with her.（3）What does the underlined phrase "This situation" in Paragraph 4 refer to?A. English is not the first language in Japan.B. The level of English spoken in Japan is relatively low.C. Younger generations in Japan welcome English.D. Japanese people become open to the rest of the world.（4）What is the main idea of the passage?A. Where there is a will, there is a way.B. It is never too late to learn.C. The early bird catches the worm.D. Two heads are better than one.【答案】（1）C（2）A（3）B（4）B【解析】【分析】本文是一篇记叙文，日本91岁的奶奶Takamizawa为了做好迎接在东京举行的2020奥运会的志愿工作，在孙辈的鼓励和帮助下开始学习英语。
There Was a Child Went ForthTHERE was a child went forth every day;And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, Or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.The early lilacs became part of this child,And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and themare's foal, and the cow's calf,And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there--and the beautiful curious liquid,And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads--all became partof him.The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part ofhim;10Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the fruit afterward,and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way to the school,And the friendly boys that pass'd--and the quarrelsome boys,And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls--and the barefoot negro boy and girl, And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.His own parents,He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb, and birth'd him,They gave this child more of themselves than that;20They gave him afterward every day--they became part of him.The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;The mother with mild words--clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust;The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture--the yearning and swelling heart,Affection that will not be gainsay'd--the sense of what is real--the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time--the curious whether and how,Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks? Men and women crowding fast in the streets--if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?30The streets themselves, and the fa鏰des of houses, and goods in the windows,Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves--the huge crossing at the ferries,The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset--the river between,Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide--the littleboat slack-tow'd astern,The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, awaysolitary by itself--the spread of purity it lies motionless in,The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.Song of MyselfBy Walt Whitman1819-1892I celebrate myself, and sing myself,And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.I loafe and invite my soul,I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and theirparents the same,I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,Hoping to cease not till death.Creeds and schools in abeyance,Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,Nature without check with original energy.。
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)Spirit That Form'd This Scene[Written in Platte Canyon, Colorado]Spirit that form'd this scene,These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own,I know thee, savage spirit – we have communed together,Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own;Was’t charged against my chants they had forgotten art?To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?The lyrist's measur'd beat, the wrought-out temple's grace – column and polish'd arch forgot? But thou that revelest here – spirit that form'd this scene,They have remember'd thee.Song of Myself (excerpt)1I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.I loafe and invite my soul,I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,Hoping to cease not till death.Creeds and schools in abeyance,Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,Nature without check with original energy.2Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,I am mad for it to be in contact with me.The smoke of my own breath,Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.I Hear America Singing.I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deck-hand singing on the steamboat deck,The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.Come Up from the Fields FatherCome up from the fields father, here's a letter from our Pete,And come to the front door mother, here's a letter from thy dear son.Lo, 'tis autumn,Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind,Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis'd vines,(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?)Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds,Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well.Down in the fields all prospers well,But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter's call.And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away.Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling,She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap.Open the envelope quickly,O this is not our son's writing, yet his name is sign'd,O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother's soul!All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only,Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital,At present low, but will soon be better.Ah now the single figure to me,Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farms,Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint,By the jamb of a door leans.Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through her sobs,The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay'd,)See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,) While they stand at home at the door he is dead already,The only son is dead.But the mother needs to be better,She with thin form presently drest in black,By day her meals untouch'd, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking,In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing,O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw,To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.Cavalry Crossing a FordA line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands,They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun—hark to the musical clank,Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink,Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person, a picture, the negligent rest on the saddles, Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford—while,Scarlet and blue and snowy white,The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.。
