外国著名诗歌范例(12篇)
在日常学习、工作或生活中，大家或多或少都接触过一些经典的诗歌吧，诗歌具有精炼含蓄的特点，起着反映社会生活、表达思想感情的作用。那什么样的诗歌才是好的诗歌呢？以下是小编为大家收集的外国著名诗歌，希望对大家有所帮助。
外国著名诗歌1
路上的秘密
托马斯·特兰斯特罗默(瑞典)
日光落在一个睡者的脸上。
他的'梦更加生动
但他没有醒来。
黑暗落在一个在不耐烦的
太阳强光中行走于他人中间的
人的脸上。
天色如一场骤雨突然转暗。
我站在容纳每一时刻的屋里--蝴蝶博物馆。
阳光依然强烈如初。
它那不耐烦的画笔正描绘着世界。
外国著名诗歌2
小心
吉皮乌斯(俄国)
只要你活着，就不要离开，
不论是为了好玩，还是由于悲哀。
爱情无法承受但也不会记仇，
它会把自己的礼品全部收走。
只要你活着，就不要分手，
把你亲近的人儿好好看守。
分手即便自由也藏着谎话。
人世间的分手，爱情无法承受。
空虚的'日子在蛛网下编结，
你的灯光在悲伤中熄灭。
蛛网里，一只蜘蛛在蹲守。
活着的人们呵，要小心人世间的分手!
外国著名诗歌3
请再说一遍我爱你
布朗宁夫人(英国)
说了一遍，请再对我说一遍，
说“我爱你!”即使那样一遍遍重复，
你会把它看成一支“布谷鸟的.歌曲”;
记着，在那青山和绿林间，
那山谷和田野中，如果她缺少了那串布谷鸟的音节，
纵使清新的春天 披着全身绿装降临，
也不算完美无缺，
爱，四周那么黑暗，耳边只听见
惊悸的心声，处于那痛苦的不安之中，
我嚷道：“再说一遍，我爱你!”
谁会嫌星星太多，每颗星星都在太空中转动;
谁会嫌鲜花太多，每一朵鲜花都洋溢着春意。
说你爱我，你爱我，一声声敲着银钟!
只是要记住，还得用灵魂爱我，在默默里。
外国著名诗歌4
《海涛》
夸西莫多(意大利)
多少个夜晚
我听到大海的轻涛细浪
拍打柔和的海滩，
抒出了一阵阵温情的
软声款语。
仿佛从消逝的岁月里
传来一个亲切的声音
掠过我的记忆的脑海
发出袅袅不断的
回音。
仿佛海鸥
悠长低徊的啼声;
或许是
鸟儿向平原飞翔
迎接旖旎的春光
婉转的歌唱。
你
与我——
在那难忘的岁贝
伴随这海涛的悄声碎语
曾是何等亲密相爱。
啊，我多么希望
我的'怀念的回音
像这茫茫的黑夜里
大海的轻涛细浪
飘然来到你的身旁。
外国著名诗歌5
《秋日》
里尔克(奥地利)
主啊，是时候了。夏天盛极一时。
把你的阴影置于日晷上，
让风吹过牧场。
让枝头最后的果实饱满。
再给两天南方的.好天气，
催它们成熟，把最后的甘甜压进浓酒。
谁此时没有房子，就不必建造，
谁此时孤独，就永远孤独，
就醒来，读书，写长长的信，
在林荫路上不停地，
徘徊，落叶纷飞。
外国著名诗歌6
茅屋
安徒生(丹麦)
在浪花冲打的海岸上，有间孤寂的'小茅屋，
一望辽阔无边无际，没有一棵树木。
只有那天空和大海，只有那峭壁和悬崖，
但里面有着最大的幸福，因为有爱人同在。
茅屋里没有金和银，却有一对亲爱的人，
时刻地相互凝视，他们多么情深。
这茅屋又小又破烂，伫立在岸上多孤单，
但里面有着最大的幸福，因为有爱人作伴。
外国著名诗歌7
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,Compare with me ye momen if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold,Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love lets so persever,That when we live no more, we may live ever.
外国著名诗歌8
告别
博尔赫斯(阿根廷)
且慢说出我们的再见。
且慢变得象阴沉的天使那样冷酷丑恶而可憎。且慢吧，我们的嘴唇还在接吻的'亲热中活着。无情的时间在无益的拥抱上泛滥。让我们一起挥霍掉热情，不是为了我们，而是为了逐渐靠近的孤独。光明推开我们，黑夜急急地来临。我们已经到了星光闪烁暗影浓重的篱笆旁边。如同一个离开丢失的牧场的人，我离开你的怀抱。如同一个离开剑戟之林的人，我离开你的眼泪。且慢去过苦恼的生活如同其他许多黄昏里的一场梦。然后我才赶上而且超越黑夜和行程。
外国著名诗歌9
My love is like to ice, and I to fire;
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,But harder grows the more I her entreat!
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not delayed by her heart-frozen cold;
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,And feel my flames augmented manifold!
What more miraculous thing may be told,That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice;
And ice, which is congealed with senseless cold,Should kindle fire by wonderful device!
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,That it can alter all the course of kind.
外国著名诗歌10
《要怀着希望》
西班牙·阿莱桑德雷·梅洛
你懂得生活吗?你懂，
你要它重复吗?你正在原地徘徊。
坐下，
不要总是回首往事，要向前冲!
站起来，再挺起胸，这才是生活。
生活的道路啊;
难道只有额头的汗水，身上的荆棘，
仆仆的风尘，心中的痛苦，
而没有爱情和早晨?
继续，继续攀登吧，咫尺既是顶峰。
别再犹豫了，
站起来，挺起胸，岂能放弃希望?
你没觉得吗?
你耳边有一种无声的语言，
它没有语调，可你一定听得见。
它随着风儿，随着清新的空气，
掀动着你那褴褛的衣衫，
吹干了你汗淋淋的前额和双颊，
抹去了你脸上残存的泪斑。
在这黑夜即将来临的傍晚，
它梳理着你的.灰发，
那么耐心，缓缓。
挺起胸膛去迎接朝霞的蓝天，
希望之光在地平线上已经冉冉升起。
迈开坚定的步伐，
认定方向，信赖我的支持
迅猛地朝前追去……
外国著名诗歌11
1、《雾角》
隐匿之镜中的嘴，
屈向自尊的柱石，
手抓囚笼的栅栏：
把你自己献给黑暗，
说出我的名字，把我领向他。
2、《水晶》
不要在我的唇上找你的嘴
不要在门前等陌生人
不要早眼里觅泪水
七个夜晚更高了红色朝向红色
七颗心脏更深了手在敲击大门
七朵玫瑰更迟了夜晚泼溅着泉水
3、《你曾是》
你曾是我的死亡
你，我可以握住
当一切从我这里失去的时候
4、《在河流里》
在北方未来的河流里
我撒下这张网，那是你犹豫而沉重的
被石头写下的阴影
5、《我仍可以看你》
我仍可以看你：一个反响
在那些可以昆虫的触角暗中摸索朝向的
词语，在分开的山脊。
你的脸相当惊怯
当突然地
那里一个灯一般闪亮
容纳我，正好在某一点上
那里，一个最痛苦的在说，永不
6、《苍白声部》
苍白声部，从深处剥取无言，无物
而它们共用一个名字
你可以坠落，你可以飞翔
一个世界的疼痛收获
7、《你可以》
你可以充满信心地
用雪来款待我：
每当我与桑树并肩
缓缓穿过夏季，
它最嫩的叶片
尖叫。
8、《时间的`眼睛》
这是时间的眼睛：
它向外斜睨
从七彩的眉毛下。
它的帘睑被火焰清洗，
它的泪水是热蒸流。
朝向它，盲目的星子在飞
并熔化在更灼热的睫毛上：
世界日益变热，
而死者们萌芽，并且开花。
9、《站着》
站着，在伤痕的
阴影里，在空中。
站着，不为任何事物任何人。
不可辨认，
只是为你。
带着那拥有藏身之处的一切，
也勿需
语言。
10、《死亡》
死亡是花，只开放一次
它就这样绽放，开得不像自己。
它开放，一想就开，它不在时间里开放
它来了，一只硕大的蝴蝶
装饰细长的苇茎
让我作一根苇茎，如此健壮，让它喜欢
外国著名诗歌12
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．
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