關(guān)于天氣的優(yōu)美英語(yǔ)古詩(shī)
天氣變化與我們的經(jīng)濟(jì)和生活具有非常密切的聯(lián)系。下面是學(xué)習(xí)啦小編帶來(lái)的關(guān)于天氣的優(yōu)美英語(yǔ)古詩(shī)，歡迎閱讀!
關(guān)于天氣的優(yōu)美英語(yǔ)古詩(shī)篇一
WIND AND WEATHER
風(fēng)和天氣
The South Wind brings wet weather,
南風(fēng)吹來(lái)雨綿綿，
The North Wind, wet and cold together,
北風(fēng)吹過(guò)濕又寒，
The West Wind always brings us rain,
西風(fēng)刮時(shí)是雨夭，
The East Wind blows it back again.
東風(fēng)又把雨送還。
關(guān)于天氣的優(yōu)美英語(yǔ)古詩(shī)篇二
The Storm
by Theodore Roethke
Against the stone breakwater,
Only an ominous lapping,
While the wind whines overhead,
Coming down from the mountain,
Whistling between the arbors, the winding terraces;
A thin whine of wires, a rattling and flapping of leaves,
And the small street-lamp swinging and slamming against
the lamp pole.
Where have the people gone?
There is one light on the mountain.
Along the sea-wall, a steady sloshing of the swell,
The waves not yet high, but even,
Coming closer and closer upon each other;
A fine fume of rain driving in from the sea,
Riddling the sand, like a wide spray of buckshot,
The wind from the sea and the wind from the mountain contending,
Flicking the foam from the whitecaps straight upward into the darkness.
A time to go home!--
And a child's dirty shift billows upward out of an alley,
A cat runs from the wind as we do,
Between the whitening trees, up Santa Lucia,
Where the heavy door unlocks,
And our breath comes more easy,--
Then a crack of thunder, and the black rain runs over us, over
The flat-roofed houses, coming down in gusts, beating
The walls, the slatted windows, driving
The last watcher indoors, moving the cardplayers closer
To their cards, their anisette.
We creep to our bed, and its straw mattress.
We wait; we listen.
The storm lulls off, then redoubles,
Bending the trees half-way down to the ground,
Shaking loose the last wizened oranges in the orchard,
Flattening the limber carnations.
A spider eases himself down from a swaying light-bulb,
Running over the coverlet, down under the iron bedstead.
The bulb goes on and off, weakly.
Water roars into the cistern.
We lie closer on the gritty pillow,
Breathing heavily, hoping--
For the great last leap of the wave over the breakwater,
The flat boom on the beach of the towering sea-swell,
The sudden shudder as the jutting sea-cliff collapses,
And the hurricane drives the dead straw into the living pine-tree.
關(guān)于天氣的優(yōu)美英語(yǔ)古詩(shī)篇三
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
by Carl Sandburg
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