poetrypacket

1、BY WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892)From:" Song of the Open Road5From this hour I ordain myself loos limits and imaginary lines,Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,Listening to others, considering well what they say,Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,Gently,but with undeniable

2、 will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.I inhale great draughts of space,The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.I am larger, better than I thought,I did not know I held so much goodness.All seems beautiful to me,I can repeat over to men and women You hav

3、e done such good to me I would do the same to you,I will recruit for myself and you as I go,I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me

4、.From:"Song of Myself 16d ofI am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that is fine, One of the Nation

5、 of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same, A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live, A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth, A Kentuckian walkin

6、g the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian, A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland, At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and t

7、acking, At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch, Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving their big proportions,) Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat, A learner with the simplest,

8、 a teacher of the thoughtfullest, A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons, Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion, A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.1 / 11I resist any thing better than my own

9、diversity,Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,And am not stuck up, and am in my place.(The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place,The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)2 / 11Emily Dickinson (

10、1830-1886)"I'm Nobody! I'm nobody! Who are you?Are you nobody, too?Then there's a pair of us-don't tell!They'd banish us, you know.How dreary to be somebody!How public, like a frogTo tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!“ Because I Could Not Stop for DeathBecau

11、se I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality.We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put awayMy labor, and my leisure too, For his civility.We passed the school, where children stroveAt recess, in the ring;We passed the fields of g

12、azing grain, We passed the setting sun.Or rather, he passed us;The dews grew quivering and chill, For only gossamer my gown, My tippet only tulle.We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground;The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound.Since then 'tis centuries, and ye

13、t each Feels shorter than the dayI first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.3 / 11The Road Not TakenBY ROBERT FROST (1874-1963)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 b

14、ent 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 firs

15、t 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 II took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.4 / 11AmericaBY CLAUDE MCKAY (1889-1

16、948)Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I will confess I love this cultured hell that tests my youth. Her vigor flows like tides into my blood, Giving me strength erect against her hate, Her bigness sweeps my being li

17、ke a flood. Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state, I stand within her walls with not a shred Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer. Darkly I gaze into the days ahead, And see her might and granite wonders there, Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand, Like priceless treasures sinking in the

18、sand.5 / 11What Lips my Lips have KissedBY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY 1892 T950What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in m

19、y heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know

20、 that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.6 / 11LANGSTON HUGHES (1902-1967)Brass SpittoonsBY LANGSTON HUGHESClean the spittoons, boy.Detroit,Chicago,Atlantic City,Palm Beach.Clean the spittoons.The steam in hotel kitchens,Hey, boy!A bright bowl of brass is beautiful to the Lor

21、d.Bright polished brass like the cymbals Of King David ' s dancers, Like the wine cups of Solomon.Hey, boy!A clean spittoon on the altar of the Lord.A clean bright spittoon all newly polishedAt least I can offer that.Com' mere, boy!And the smoke in hotel lobbies,And the slime in hotel spitto

22、ons:Part of my life.Hey, boy!A nickel,A dime,A dollar,Two dollars a day.Hey, boy!A nickel,A dime,A dollar,Two dollarsBuy shoes for the baby.House rent to pay.Gin on Saturday,Church on Sunday.My God!Babies and gin and churchAnd women and SundayAll mixed with dimes andDollars and clean spittoonsAnd ho

23、use rent to pay.7 / 11One Artby Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)The art of losing isn't hard to master;so many things seem filled with the intentto 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 h

24、ard to master.Then practice losing farther, losing faster:places, and names, and where it was you meantto travel. None of these will bring disaster.I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.The art of losing isn't hard to master.I lost two citie

25、s, 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 gestureI love) I shan't have lied. It's evidentthe art of losing's not too hard to masterthough it may look like ( Write it!) like disa

26、ster.8 / 11Primer For BlacksBY GWENDOLYN BROOKS (19172000)Blacknessis a title,is a preoccupation,is a commitment Blacksare to comprehendand in which you are to perceive your Glory.The conscious shoutof all that is white is"It ' s Great to be white.The conscious shoutof the slack in Black is

27、"It's Great to be white."Thus all that is whitehas white strength and yours.The word Black has geographic power, pulls everybody in: Blacks here Blacks thereBlacks wherever they may be.And remember, you Blacks, what they told youremember your Education:“one Drop one Dropmaketh a brand

28、new Black.Oh mighty Drop.And because they have given uskindlyso many more of our peopleBlacknessstretches over the land.Blacknessthe Black of it,the rust-red of it,the milk and cream of it,the tan and yellow-tan of it,the deep-brown middle-brown high- brown of it,the “ olive " and ochre of itBl

29、acknessmarches on.The huge, the pungent object of our prime out-rideis to Comprehend,to salute and to Love the fact that weare Black,which is our “ ultimate Reality,which is the lone groundfrom which our meaningful metamorphosis,from which our prosperous staccato, group or individual, can rise.Self-

30、shriveled Blacks.Begin with gaunt and marvelous concession:YOU are our costume and ourfundamental bone.All of youyou COLORED ones,9 / 11you NEGRO ones, those of you who proudly cry"I' m half INDian those of you who proudly screech"I ' VE got the blood of George WASHington in MY veins ALL of youyou proper Blacks,you half-Blacks,you wish-I- weren ' t Blacks, Niggeroes and Niggerenes.You.10 / 11Nikki-RosaBY NIKKI GIOVANNI (B. 1943)childhood remembrances are always a dragif you ' re Blackyou always remember things like livingin Woodlawnwith no inside toiletand if