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1.Rain «B

Rain is falling all around, «B¨à¦b¨ì³B­°¸¨¡A

It falls on field and tree, ¥¦¸¨¦b¥Ð³¥©M¾ð±é¡A

It rains on the umbrella here, ¥¦¸¨¦b³oÃ䪺«B³Ê¤W¡A

And on the ships at sea. ¤S¸¨¦b¯è¦æ®ü¤Wªº²î°¦¡C

-------- by R. L. Stevenson, 1850-1894

2.What Does The Bee Do? »e¸Á°µ¨Ç¤°»ò©O¡H

What does the bee do? »e¸Á°µ¨Ç¤°»ò¡H

Bring home honey. §â¸Á»e±a¦^®a¡C

And what does Father do? ¤÷¿Ë°µ¨Ç¤°»ò¡H

Bring home money. §â¿ú±a¦^®a¡C

And what does Mother do? ¥À¿Ë°µ¨Ç¤°»ò¡H

Lay out the money. §â¿ú¥Î¥ú¡C

And what does baby do?À¦¨à°µ¨Ç¤°»ò¡H

Eat up the honey. §â»e¦Y¥ú¡C

--------- by C. G. Rossetti, 1830-1894

3.O Sailor, Come Ashore °Ú¡I¤ô¤â¡A¤W©¤§a

(Part I)

O sailor, come ashore °Ú¡I¤ô¤â¡A¤W©¤§a

What have you brought for me? §Aµ¹§Ú±a¨Ó¤°»ò¡H

Red coral , white coral, ®üùتº¬À·ä¡A

Coral from the sea. ¬õªº¡A¥Õªº¡C

(Part II)

I did not dig it from the ground ¥¦¤£¬O§Ú±q¦a¤U«õªº¡A

Nor pluck it from a tree; ¤]¤£¬O±q¾ð¤WºKªº¡F

Feeble insects made it ¥¦¬O¼É­·«Bªº®ü»q

In the stormy sea. ®z¤p©øÂ൦¨ªº¡C

¡ãby C. G. Rossetti

4.THE WIND ­·

(Part I)

Who has seen the wind? ½Ö´¿¨£¹L­·ªº­±»ª¡H

Neither I nor you; ½Ö¤]¨S¨£¹L¡A¤£½×§A©Î§Ú¡F

But when the leaves hang trembling, ¦ý¦b¾ð¸­¾_°Ê¤§»Ú¡A

The wind is passing through. ­·¥¿±q¨º¸Ì§j¹L¡C

(Part II)

Who has seen the wind? ½Ö´¿¨£¹L­·ªº­±¤Õ¡H

Neither you nor I; ½Ö¤]¨S¨£¹L¡A¤£½×§A©Î§Ú¡F

But when the trees bow down their heads, ¦ý¦b¾ð±é§C««¤§»Ú¡A

The wind is passing by. ­·¥¿±q¨º¸Ì¸g¹L¡C

¡ãby C. G. Rossetti

O wind , why do you never rest, ­·°Ú¡I¬°¦ó§A¥Ã¤£¥ð¤î

Wandering, whistling to and fro, ¨Ó¨Ó¦^¦^ªºº}ªy¡A©I¼S

Bring rain out of the west, ±q¦è¤è±a¨Ó¤F«B

From the dim north bringing snow? ±qéÄ諸¥_¤è±a¨Ó¤F³·¡C

5.THE CUCKOO ¥¬½\³¾

In April, ¥|¤ëùØ¡A

Come he will, ¨e´N¨Ó¤F¡A

In May, ¤­¤ëùØ¡A

Sing all day, ¾ã¤Ñ§u°Û¦h³p»»¡A

In June, ¤»¤ëùØ¡A

Change his tune, ¨e¦b§ïÅܦ±½Õ¡A

In July, ¤C¤ëùØ¡A

Prepare to fly, ·Ç³Æ­¸µ¾¡A

In August, ¤K¤ëùØ¡A

Go he must! ¨e´N±oÂ÷¥h¤F¡I

¡ãby Mother Goose's Nursery Rhyme

6.COLORS ÃC¦â

[1]

What is pink? A rose is pink ¤°»ò¬O¯»¬õ¦â¡H

By the fountain's brink. ¼Q¬uÃ䪺ª´ºÀ´N¬O¯»¬õ¦â¡C

[2]

What is red? A poppy's red ¤°»ò¬OÆA¬õ¦â¡H

In its barley bed. ¦b¤j³Á§É¸ÌªºÄ¢µ¯ªá´N¬OÆA¬õ¦â¡C

[3]

What is blue? The sky is blue ¤°»ò¬O½«ÂŦâ¡H¤ÑªÅ´N¬O½«ÂŦâ¡A

Where the clouds float thro'. ¶³¦·ÄƹL¨ä¶¡¡C

[4]

What is white? A swan is white ¤°»ò¬O¥Õ¦â¡H

Sailing in the light. ¶§¥ú¤U¼^¤ôªº¤ÑÃZ´N¬O¥Õ¦â¡C

[5]

What is yellow? Pears are yellow, ¤°»ò¬O¶À¦â¡H±ù¨à´N¬O¶À¦â¡A

Rich and ripe and mellow. ¼ô³z¥B¦h¥Ä¡C

[6]

What is green? The grass is green, ¤°»ò¬Oºñ¦â¡H¯ó´N¬Oºñ¦â¡A

With small flowers between. ¤pªáºUÂø¨ä¶¡¡C

[7]

What is violet? Clouds are violet ¤°»ò¬Oµµ¦â¡H®L¤é¤i¶§¸Ìªº

In the summer twilight. ±mÁø´N¬Oµµ¦â¡C

[8]

What is orange? Why, an orange, ¤°»ò¬O¾ï¦â¡H·íµM°Õ¡I

Just an orange! ¾ï¤l´N¬O¾ï¦â¡C

---------- by C. G. Rossetti

7.A House Of Cards ¯ÈµP°ï¦¨ªº©Ð¤l

(1)

A house of cards ¯ÈµP°ï¦¨ªº©Ð¤l

Is neat and small; ¼ä²b¤Î¤p¥©

Shake the table, ·n·n®à¤l

It must fall. ¥¦¤@©w·|­Ë¡C

(2)

Find the court cards §ä¥Xø¦³¤H¹³ªº¯ÈµP

One by one; ¤@±i¤@±i¦a½Ý°_

Raise it, roof it,---- ¦A¥[¤W³»»\

Now it's done;---- ²{¦b©Ð¤l¤w¸g»\¦n

Shake the table! ·n·n®à¤l

That's the fun. ¨º´N¬O¥¦ªº¼Ö½ì¡C

-----by C. G. Rossetti

8.What Does Little Birdie Say? ¤p³¾¦b»¡ ¨Ç¤°»ò©O¡H

(1)

What does little birdie say, ¤p³¾»¡¨Ç¤°»ò©O¡H

In her nest at peep of day? ¦b³o¾¤©úªì¾åªº¤p±_¤¤¡H

Let me fly, says little birdie, ¤p³¾»¡¡AÅý§Ú­¸¡A

Mother, let me fly away, ¶ý¶ý¡AÅý§Ú­¸¨«§a¡C

Birdie, rest a little longer, Ä_¨©¡Aµy¯d¤[¤@·|¨à¡A

Till the little wings are stronger. µ¥¨ì¨º¹ï¤p¯Í»H¦Aªøµw¨Ç¨à¡C

So she rests a little longer, ¦]¦¹¨e¤S¦h¯d¤F¤@·|¨à¡A

Then she flies away. µM¦Ó¨eÁÙ¬O­¸¨«¤F¡C

(2)

What does little baby say, À¦¨à»¡¨Ç¤°»ò¡A

In her bed at peep of day? ¦b¯}¾å®É¤Àªº§É¤W¡H

Baby says, like little birdie, À¦¨à¹³¤p³¾¨º¼Ë»¡¡A

Let me rise and fly away. Åý§Ú°_¨Ó­¸¨«§a¡C

Baby, sleep a little longer, ¨Ä¨Ä¡Aµy·L¦hºÎ¤@·|¨à¡A

Till the little limbs are stronger. µ¥§Aªº¥|ªÏ¦AªøµwÂI¨à¡C

If she sleeps a little longer, ¦pªG¦o¦A¦hºÎ¤@·|¨à¡A

Baby too shall fly away. À¦¨à¥²µM¤]·|¹³³¾¨à¤@¼Ë¦a­¸¨«¡C

-----by Alfred Tennyson, 1809-1892

¡@

9.The Star ¬P¬P

(1)

Twinkle, twinkle, little star! °{Ä£¡A°{Ä£¡A¤p¬P¬P¡I

How I wonder what you are, §Ú·Qª¾¹D§A¨­§Î¡A

Up above the world so high, °ª°ª±¾¦b¤ÑªÅ¤¤¡A

Like a diamond in the sky. ´N¹³¤Ñ¤WªºÆp¥Û¡C

(2)

When the blazing sun is gone, ÀéÄê¤Ó¶§¤w¦è¨I¡A

When he nothing shines upon, ¥¦¤w¤£¦A·Ó¸Uª«¡A

Then you show your little light, §A´NÅãÅS¨Ç·L¥ú¡A

Twinkle, twinkle all the night. ¾ã­Ó±ß¤W¯w²´·ú¡C

(3)

The dark blue sky you keep ¯dÅʺ£¶Âªº¤ÑªÅ

And often thro' my curtains peep, ¬ï¹Lµ¡Ã®¦V§Ú±æ¡A

For you never shut your eye ¥Ã¤£³¬¤W§A²´·ú

Till the sun is in the sky. ª½¨ì¤Ó¶§¤S²{§Î¡C

(4)

'Tis your bright and tiny spark §A³o·L«Gªº¤õ¬P¡A

Lights the traveler in the dark; ¶Â©]·ÓÄ£µÛ¹C¤H¡A

Though I know not what you are Áö§Ú¤£ª¾§A¨­§Î¡A

Twinkle, twinkle, little star! °{Ä£¡A°{Ä£¡A¤p¬P¬P¡I

-----by Jane Taylor, 1783-1824

¡@

10.At The Seaside ®üÃä

(1)

When I was down beside the sea ·í§Ú¨ì®üÃä®É

A wooden spade they gave to me ¥L­Ìµ¹¤F§Ú¤@§â¤ìÃê

To dig the sandy shore. ¦n¥h«õ±¸¨FÅy¡C

(2)

The holes were empty like a cup «õ¦¨¹³ªMª¬¯ëªºªÅ¬}

In every hole the sea camp up, Åý¨C­Ó¬}¤¤ªº®ü¤ô´é²{

Till it could come no more. ª½¨ì¥¦¤£¯à¦A´é²{¡C

-----by R. L. Stevenson

¡@

11.Boats Sail On The Rivers ¤p¦à¦bªe¤W¯è¦æ

(1)

Boats sail on the rivers, ¤p¦à¦bªe¤W¯è¦æ¡A

And ships sail on the seas; ¤j²î¦b®ü¤¤¾Þ½ü¡A

But clouds that sail across the sky, µM¦Ó¥Õ¶³ÄƹL¤ÑªÅ®É¡A

Are prettier far than these. ¤ñ³o¨Ç§ó¬°®®¤H¡C

(2)

There are bridges on the rivers, ªe¤W¦³¾ô¡A

As pretty as you please; ¦p§A©ÒÄ@ªº¨º»ò®®¥Ø¡F

But the bow that bridges heaven, µM¦Ó¾î¸ó¦bªÆ»aªºªø­i¡A

And overtops the trees, «o¤ñ¾ð±é§ó°ª¡A

And builds a road from earth to sky, ¦Ó¯à«Ø¿v¤@±ø³q¦æ¤Ñ»Úªº¹D¸ô¡A

Is prettier  far than these. ¤ñ³o¨Ç§ó¬°¬ü¦n¡C

-----by C. G. Rossetti

¡@

12.The Swing ÂþÆH

(1)

How do you like to go up in a swing, §A³ßÅwÀú¤@½ëÂþÆH¡A

Up in the air so blue? ¸m¨­©óÂÅÂŪº´¸ªÅ¶Ü¡H

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing °Ú¡A§Ú»{¬°³o¬O¤p«Ä©Ò¯à°µ¨ìªº

Ever a child can do. ³Ì´r§Öªºª±­A¡C

(2)

Up in the air and over the wall, ¶V¹LÀð¥~°ª½õ¤ÑªÅ¡A

Till I can see so wide, ª½¨ì§Ú¯à±æ¨£¦p¦¹¼s¤jªº¥@¬É¡A

River and trees and cattle and all ªe¬y¡B¾ð¤ì¡B¤û¸s¡A

Over the countryside---- ÁÙ¦³¾ã­Óªº¶m§ø¡C

(3)

Till I look down on the garden green ª½¨ì§Ú­ÁÀýµÛ»Aºñªºªá¶é

Down on the roof so brown---- ¥H¤Î´Ä¦âªº«Î³»

Up in the air I go flying again §Ú¤S­¸¤W¤Ñ¥h¡A

Up in the air and down! ¦b¤Ñ¦a¶¡¤W¤U¬ï±ô¡I

-----by R. L. Stevenson

¡@

13.The Blossom ªá¨à

(1)

Merry, merry sparrow! ´r§Ö¡A´r§Öªº¤p³Â³¶¡I

Under leaves so green, ¦b¦p¦¹»Aºñªº¾ð¸­¤U¡A

A happy blossom ¤@¦·©¯ºÖªºªá¨à

Sees you, swift as arrow, ¬ÝµÛ§A¡A¦p½b¯ë¦a±Ó±¶¡A

Seek your cradle narrow ¦b§Úªº¯Ý«e´M§ä

Near my bosom. §A¨º¯¶¤pªº·nÄx¡C

(2)

Pretty, pretty robin! º}«G¡Aº}«Gªºª¾§ó³¾¡I

Under leaves so green, ¦b¦p¦¹»Aºñªº¾ð¸­¤U¡A

A happy blossom ¤@¦·©¯ºÖªºªá¦·

Hears you sobbing, sobbing, Å¥¨ì§A¶ã«|¡A¶ã«|¡A

Pretty, pretty, robin, º}«G¡Aº}«Gªºª¾§ó³¾¡I

Near my bosom. ¦b§Úªº¯Ý«e½L±Û¡C

-----by William Blake, 1757-1827

¡@

14.Infant Joy À¦¨àªº³ß®®

(1)

'I have no name; ¡u§ÚµL©m¦W

I am but two days old.' §Ú¥u¨â¤Ñ¤j¡C¡v

What shall I call thee? §Ú±N¦p¦ó¨ÓºÙ©I§A©O¡H

'I happy am, ¡u§Ú«Ü§Ö¼Ö¡A

Joy is my name.' ³ß®®´N¬O§Úªº¦W¦r¡C¡v

Sweet joy befall thee! Ä@²¢»eªº§Ö¼Ö­°Á{§A¨­¤W¡I

(2)

Pretty Joy! º}«Gªº³ß®®¡I

Sweet Joy, but two days old. ²¢»eªº³ß®®¡A¤~¨â¤Ñ¤j¡C

Sweet Joy I call thee: §ÚºÙ§A¬°²¢»eªº³ß®®¡G

Thou dost smile, §A´N·L¯º¡A

I sing the while, ·í§Ú°Ûºqªº·í¨à¡A

Sweet joy befall thee! Ä@²¢»eªº§Ö¼Ö­°Á{§A¨­¤W¡I

-----by William Blake

¡@

15.Bed In Summer ®L¤é¤§§É

(1)

In winter I get up at night ¥V¤é§Ú¤j²M¦­°_§É

And dress by yellow candle-light. Âǵ۶À¦âªºòâ¥ú¬ï»n¡C

In summer quite the other way, ®L¤é§¹¥þ¬Û¤Ï¡A

I have to go to bed by day. §Ú¥²¶·¦b¤é¶¡¤W§É¡C

(2)

I have to go to bed and see§Ú¥²¤W§É¥B¬Ý

The birds still hopping on the tree, ³¾¨àÁÙ¦b¾ð±éÅDÀú¡A

Or hear the grown-up people's feet §í©Î²âÅ¥¦¨¦~¤Hªº¸}Án

Still going past me in the street. ¤´Â¦bµó¹D¨«¹L§Úªº¨­®Ç¡C

(3)

And does it not seem hard to you, ¥¦¹ï§A¨Ó»¡Ãø¹D¤£¬°Ãø¶Ü¡H

When all the sky is clear and blue, ¦b©ú«G¦Ó½«ÂŪº¤ÑªÅ·í«e¡A

And I should like so much to play, ¦Ó§Ú¦p¦¹³ßÅwª±­A¡A

To have to go to bed by day? «o¥²¶·¦b¥Õ¤Ñ´N¤W§É¡H

-----by R. L. Stevenson

¡@

16.The Naughty Boy ¹x¥Öªº«Ä¤l

There was a naughty boy, ¦³¤@­Ó¹x¥Öªº«Ä¤l¡A

And a naughty boy was he, ¹x¥Öªº«Ä¤l´N¬O¥L¡A

He ran away to Scotland ¥LÂ÷®a¨ìĬ®æÄõ¥h

The people for to see--- ¥h¬Ý¨ºÃ䪺¤H­Ì

Then he found µM«á¥Lµo²{

That the ground ¨ºÃ䪺¦a­±

Was as hard, ¤@¼Ëªº°íµw¡A

That a yard ¨ºÃ䪺¤Ø½X

Was as long, ¤@¼Ëªºªø¡A

That a song ¨º¸ÌªººqÁn

Was as merry, ¤@¼Ëªº¬ü§®¡A

That a cherry ¨º¸ÌªºÄå®ç

Was as red, ¤@¼ËªºÂA¬õ

That lead ¨º¸Ìªº¹]

Was as weighty, ¤@¼Ëªº¨I­«

That fourscore ¨º¸Ìªº¤K¤Q

Was as eighty, ¦P¼Ë¤]¬O¤K¤Q

That a door ¨ºùتºªù

Was as wooden

As in England---©M­^®æÄõ¤@¼Ë¡A¤]¬O¤ì»sªº

So he stood in his shoes ¦]¦¹¡A¥LµÛ¾c¦Ó¥ß

And he wonder'd; ¤j·PÅå©_¡F

He stood in his shoes ¥LµÛ¾c¦Ó¥ß

And he wonder'd. ¤j·PÅå©_¡C

-----by John Keats, 1795-1821

¡@

17.Flower In The Crannied Wall ÀðÁ_¸Ìªºªá

Flower in the crannied wall, ÀðÁ_ùتºªá¡A

I pluck you out of the crannies, §Ú±qµõÁ_¤¤±N§A±Ä¥X

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, ©ñ¦b¤â¤¤³s®Ú¤@°_®³¨ì³oùØ

Little flower---but if I could understand ¤pªá¡Ð°²­Y§Ú¯à§¹¥þ¦a¤F¸Ñ§A

What you are, root and all, and all in all, §Ú¥²¤]¯àª¾¹D

I should know what God and man is.¤W«Ò©M¤HÃþ¬O¤°»ò¡C

-----by Alfred Tennyson

18.Where Go The Boats? ¤p²î¾p¨ì¨º¸Ì¤F¡H

(1)

Dark brown is the river, ¶Â½Å¦âªºªe¬y¡A

Golden is the sand. ª÷¶À¦âªº¨F¥C

It floats along forever, ªuµÛ¾ðªº¨âÃä

With trees on either hand. ¥¦¥Ã»·¦bº}¬y¡C

(2)

Green leaves a-floating, ºñ¸­¦b¤ô¤Wº}¬y¡A

Castles of the foam, ªwªj³y¦¨ªº«°³ù¡A

Boats of mine a-floating--- §Úªº²î¦b¤ô¤Wº}¯B¡A

Where will all come home? ¨ºùؤ~¬OÂk³~¡H

(3)

On goes the river ªe¤ôÄ~Äò¦a¬yµÛ

And out past the mill, ¸g¹L¤F¿i§{¡A

Away down the valley, ¬y¤U¤s¨¦¡A

Away down the hill. ¦A¬y¤U¤s±^¡C

(4)

Away down the river, ªe¤ô¦V¤U¬yÂà¡A

A hundred miles or more, ¦³¤@¦Ê­ùªø¡A©ÎªÌ§ó¦h¡A

Other little children §Oªº«Ä¤l­Ì

Shall bring my boats ashore. ±N·|§â§Úªº²î±a¨ì©¤Ãä¡C

-----by R. L. Stevenson

19.The Arrow And The Song ½b»Pºq

(1)

I shot an arrow in the air, §Ú¦VªÅ¤¤®g¤F¤@½b¡A

It fell to earth, I knew not where; ¥¦¤w¸¨¨ì¦a­±¡A§Ú¤£ª¾¹D¨ä¥h¦V¡F

For so swiftly it flew, the sight ¦]¥¦­¸±o¦p¦¹¦a§Ö³t

Could not follow it in its flight. µø¤OµLªk¸ò±o¤W¥¦ªº­¸¹£¡C

(2)

I breathed a song into the air, §Ú¦VªÅ¤¤»´ºq¤@¦±¡A

It fell to earth, I knew not where; ¥¦¤w¸¨¦a¦Ó°±¡A§Ú¤£ª¾¨ä¥h¦V¡F

For who has sight so keen and strong, ½Ö¦³³o»ò±Ó¾Uªºµø¤O¡A

That it can follow the flight of song? ¯à¸ò±o¤WºqÁnªº­¸¹£¡H

(3)

Long, long afterward, in an oak «Ü¤[¡A«Ü¤[¥H«á¡A¦b¤@´Ê¾ó¾ð¤W¡A

I found the arrow still unbroke; §Úµo²{¥¦¨ÌµM§¹¦nµL·l¡F

And the song, from beginning to end, ¦Ó³o­ººq¡A±qÀY¨ì§À¡A

I found again in the heart of a friend. §Úµo²{¤S²`¦L¦b¤@¦ì¤Í¤Hªº¤ß¤W¡C

-----by H. W. Longfellow

¡@

20. Sweet And Low©M¥B¬Xªº¦è­·

(1)

Sweet and low, sweet and low, ©M¥B¬X¡A©M¥B¬X

Wind of the western sea, »·®ü¦è­·³n¦pº÷¡A

Low, low, breathe and blow, ¬X¬X¡A©M¥B¬X

Wind of the western sea! »·®ü¦è­·³n¦pº÷¡A

Over the rolling waters go, §j¹L¨º°ÊÀúªºªi¤s®ö¨¦¡A

Come from the dying moon, and blow, §j¦V¨º¤ë¸¨³B¡A»·®ü½a³µ¡A

Blow him again to me; ±N¨º¤p²î§j¦^ÀY¡F

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. ·í§ÚªºÄ_¨©¡A¤ß¨xºÎµÛªº®É­Ô¡C

(2)

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, ¦w¤ßºÎ¡A¦w¤ßºÎ¡A

Father will come to thee soon; ª¨ª¨´N ¦^¬ÝÄ_¨©¡F

Rest, rest, on mother's breast, ºÎºÎ¡A¦w¤ßºÎ¡A

Father will come to his babe in the nest, ª¨ª¨´N ¦^¬ÝÄ_¨©¡F

Silver sails all out of the west ®ü¤W¤@¤ù»È¥ú¡A¤ë¦â²M»A¡A

Under the silver moon; ¤p²î­¼­·Âk¨Ó¡A¿ººy±r«Þ¡F

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. Âk¨Ó¬Ý¤pÄ_¨©ºÎ¡A¦w¤ßºÎ¡A¤p¤ß¨xºÎ¡C

-----by Alfred Tennyson

¡@

21.In A Station of the Metro ¦b¦a¤UÅK¨®¯¸

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

·N¥~¯B²{¥X³o¨Ç­±¤Õ¡A¦Û¤H¸s¤§¤¤¡F

¤ù¤ùªáä¦b¼éÀãÂK¶ÂªºªK¤l¤W¡C

-----by Ezra Pound, 1885-1972

¡@

22.The Tide Rises, the tide Falls ¼é°_¡A¼é¸¨

The tide rises, the tide falls,

The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;

Along the sea-sands damp and brown

The traveller hastens toward the town,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

¡@

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,

But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;

the little waves, with their soft, white hands,

Efface the footprints in the sands,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

¡@

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls

Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;

The day returns, but nevermore

Returns the traveller to the shore,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

-------by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882

¡@

23.The Pasture ªª³õ

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; §Ú­n¥h²¨Àપ³õ¤Wªº¬u¤ô¡F

I'll only stop to rake the leaves away ¥u­n¨ì¨ºùا⸭¤l¯Ò²M§Y¥i

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may); ¡]©Î³\¯d¤U¬Ý¤ôÂà²M¡A¥¼¹Á¤£¥i¡^

I Shan't be gone long.--- You come too. ³o­n¤£¤F¦h¤[ªº¡C¡Ð§A¤]¨Ó§a¡C

¡@

I'm going out to fetch the little calf §Ú­n¥X¥h²o¨ºÀY¤p¤û

That's standing by the mother. It's so young ¯¸¦b¥À¤û®Çªº¨º¤@ÀY¡A¯u¬O¤Ó¤p¤F

It totters when she licks it with her tongue. ¥À¤û¥Î¦ÞÀY»Q»Q¡A¥L«K·n·n®Ì®Ì¯¸¥ß¤£¤F¡C

I shan't be gone long.--- You come too. ³o­n¤£¤F¦h¤[ªº¡C¡Ð§A¤]¨Ó§a¡C

----------by Robert Frost, 1874-1963

¡@

24.This Is Just to Say 

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

¡@

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

¡@

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

-----------by William Carlos Williams, 1883-1963

¡@

25.The Lake Isle of Innisfree ¯ô´ò®q

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And Live alone in the bee-loud glade.

¦¹¨è§Ú±N°Ê¨­«e¥h¡A¥h¨º¯ô´ò®q¡A

¦b¨º¨à·f«Ø¤@®y¤p¤ì«Î¡A¥Hªd¶ôªKÙ²½s´¦Ó¦¨¡F

ºØ´X¦a¤j¨§¡A§Ë­Ó¸Á±_¡A¾i¨Ç»e¸Á¡A

¿ò¥@¿W¥ß©ó¨º¤ù¸Á¨à°ª»ïªºªL¶¡³¥¦a¡C

¡@

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings.

§Ú±N¦b¨º¨à¦w¸Ô¹L¤é¤l¡A³o¦w¸Ô½w½wºw¸¨

¥Ñ²M±áªº°gÀÛ¨ìÁµÁ¬ªº»ï°Û¡F

¨º¨àªº¤l©]¡A¬P¥ú°{Ã{¡F¤¤¤È¡Aµµ¥ú¤@¤ù¡F

¦Ó¶À©ü¡A­¸º¡³¥³¶ªº¬õÁl¡C

¡@

I will arise and go now, for always night and day,

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

Whil I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

¦¹¨è§Ú±N°Ê¨­«e¥h¡A¦]¬°¤é¤é©]©]

§ÚÅ¥¨ì¨º´ò¤ô»´©ç©¤Ã䪺§C»y¡A

·í§Ú¦î¨¬¦b¤j¹D¤W¡A©Î¦b¦ÇÀÛªº¤p®|®É¡A

§ÚÅ¥¨ì¨º´ò¤ô¦b§Ú¤ß²`³B°jÅT¤£µ´¡C

-----by William Butler Yeats, 1865-1939

¡@

26.Hyla Brook «Bµì·Ë

By June our brook's run out of song and speed.

Sought for much after that, it will be found

Either to have gone groping underground

(And taken with it all the Hyla breed

That shouted in the mist a month ago,

Like ghost of sleigh bells in a ghost of snow)---

Or flourished and come up in jewelweed,

Weak foliage that is blown upon land bent

Even against the way its waters wnt.

Its bed is left a faded paper sheet

Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat---

A brook to none but who remember long.

This as it will be seen is other far

Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song.

We love the things we love for what they are.

¤@¨ì¤»¤ë¡A§Ú­Ìªº¤p·Ë´N¤£¬y¤]¤£°Û¤F¡C

¦A¹L¤@°}¤l¥h¬Ý¡A«K·|µo²{·Ë¤ô

­n¹À¡A¥þºN¯Á¨ì¦a©³¤U¥h¤F

¡]³s±aµÛ©Ò¦³ªº«Bµì±Ú

¤@­Ó¤ë«e¡A¨e­ÌÁÙ¦b°gÃú¤§¤¤¥sµÛ¡A

¹³³·¾õ¹aªº°­»î¦b³·ªáªº°­»î¤§¤¤¡L¡L¡^

­n¹À¡A´N´§»RµÛ¡A¦b¤ôª÷»ñ¸Ì«_¤F¤W¨Ó¡A

²Ó½Gªº¸­¤l¦b©¤¤W³Q­·§j±×

¦Ó¥BÁÙ¬O­IµÛ¬y¤ôªº¤è¦V±×¡C

¯d¤U·Ë§É¡A¤@±i¿Æ¦âªº¯È¤ù

¤W­±º¡¬O¬\¦ºªº¸­¤l¡A³Q®Í±oÂH¶K¦b¤@°_¡L¡L

°£¤F°O©Ê¦nªº¥H¥~¡A½Ö¤]»{¤£¥X³o¬O¤@±ø·Ë¬y

¥i¥H·Q¨£ªº¬O¡A³o±ø·Ë¬y»P¤@¸ô°ÛµÛ¬y¦V

¨ä¥L¦a¤èªº³\¦h·Ë¬y¬O¤Ó¤£¬Û¦P¤F¡C

§Ú­Ì·R§^©Ò·R¡AµL¥L¡A·R¨ä¥»¦â¦Ó¤w¡C

-----by Robert Frost 1874-1963

¡@

27.The Bight ®üÆW

[ON MY BIRTHDAY]¥Í¤é¬ö©À

At low tide like this how sheer the water is.

White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare

and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches,

Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,

the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,

the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.

One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaire

one could probably hear it turning to marimba music.

The little ocher dredge at work off the end of the dock

already plays the dry perfectly off-beat claves.

The birds are outsize. Pelicans crash

into this peculiar gas unnecessarily hard.

it seems to me, like pickaxes,

rarely coming up with anything to show for it,

and going off with humorous elbowings,

Black-and-white man-of-war birds soar

on impalpable drafts

and open their tails like scissors on the curves

or tense them like wishbones, till they tremble.

The frowsy sponge boats keep coming in

with the obliging air of retrievers,

bristling with jackstraw gaffs and hooks

and decorated with bobbles of sponges.

There is a fence of chicken wire along the dock

where, glinting like little plowshares,

the blue-gray shark tails are hung up to dry

for the Chinese-restaurant trade.

Some of the little white boats are still piled up

against each other, or lie on their sides, stove in,

and not yet salvaged, if they ever will be, from the last bad storm.

like torn-open, unanswered letters.

the bight is littered with old correspondences.

Click. Click. Goes the dredge,

and brings up a dripping jawful of marl.

All the untidy activity continues,

awful but cheerful.

®ü¼é°h¨ì³o¼Ëªº®É­Ô¡A¤ô«K¤À¥~²Mº«¤F¡C

¥Õ¦âªº¥Û¦ÇªdÅy¡A¼h¼hÅS¥X¤ô¨Ó¡A®ö¯¾´³»é¡A°{Ä£«G²´¡C

±ø±ø¤p²î¡A®Í±o°®°®ªº¡F®Ú®Ú¤ì¼Î¡A«h°®±o¹³¤õ®ã´Î¡C

§l¦¬¦Ó«D³Q§l¦¬¡A

®üÆW¸Ìªº¤ô§Ë¤£Àã¥ô¦óªF¦è¡A

¦Ó¥B§e²{¥X¤@ºØ¥Ë´µ¤õ¶}¦Ü³Ì§C®ÉªºÃC¦â¡C

§A¥i¥H»D¨ì¨º®ü¤ô¥¿Âà¤Æ¦¨¥Ë´µ¡F°²¦p§A¬Oªi¯SµÜº¸ªº¸Ü

§A»¡¤£©w¥i¥HÅ¥¨ì¨º®ü¤ô¥¿Âà¤Æ¦¨°¨ªL¤Ú¤ìµ^ªºÁn­µ¡C

¦Ó½XÀY§ÀºÝ¡A¤@­Ó½Å¦â¤p«¬¼´ºô¥¿¦b¨º¸Ì¼´µÛ

¤@ª½¦b¨º¸Ì¥Hµ´¹ï§Nµwªº½Õ¤l¡A¥´µÛÂù¸`´Î¡A¦ñ«µµÛ¡C

¤ô³¾³£¬O¯S¤j¸¹ªº¡CñÏõ|¼M°Õ½Ä

¤J³o¤@ªl©_²§ªº¥Ë´µ¤§¤¤¡A¯u¬O¤pÃD¤j§@¡A

³o´º¶H¹ï§Ú¨Ó»¡¡A¦³ÂI¹³Åb¼L¾S¡A

¤@¾S¤U¥h¡A©Ô¦^¨Ó¬Ý¬Ý¡A¤°»ò¤]¨S¦³¡A

©ó¬O¥u¦n´å¨ì¤@Ãä¡A¼Ë¤l·Æ½]ªºÀ½¤JñÏõ|°ï¸Ì¥h¤F¡C

¶Â¥Õ¬Û¶¡ªº­xÄ¥³¾¿¬µ¾¦b

®»ºN¤£©wªº®ð¬yùØ

§À¤Ú±i¶}¡A¦p°Å¤MÅsÅsµô¹L

§À¤ÚºòÁ^¡A¦p¤e°©Á^µMŸ°Ê¡C

¸{¯äªº®üºø²î¤£Â_ªº¶}¤F¶i¨Ó

¥H¤@ºØÂyª¯°å¦^ªF¦è¯ëªº®ï¶Ô«ººA¡A

¤W­±½Ý¥ßµÛ½_¯ó¤H¯ëªº³½¤e³½¹_

¸Ë¹¢µÛ««Äa¦Q·Eªº®üºø¡C

ªuµÛ½XÀY¡A¦³¤@±Æ¤è®æÅKµ·ºôÀð

¤W­±¡A±¾µÛ°{°{µo¥ú²p¤M¯ë

¦ÇÂÅÃTªº§À¤Ú¡A¤@±ø±øªº¡A¦b¨º¸Ì­·°®¡A

·Ç³Æ½æµ¹¤¤°êÀ\À]¡C

¤@¨Ç¥Õ¦âªº¤p²î¡A¤´µM¬Û¤¬¾a¦b¤@°_

°ïµÛ©ñ¡A©Î°¼µÛ©ñ¡A²î¨­¯}µõ¡A

ÁÙ¨S­×¦n¡]­n¬O±N¨Ó¯uÁÙ·|¥h­×ªº¸Ü¡^¡A³£¬O¤W¦^¼É­·§ËÃaªº¡A

¹³¤@«Ê«Ê©î¶}¦Ó¨S¦³¦^ÂЪº«H¡C

³o¤p®üÆW¤º¨ì³B³£¥áµÛ¼o±óªº«H¥ó¡C

¥d°Õ¥d°Õ¡A¼´ºô¤W¤U¼´µÛ¡A

¼´¤W¨Óºwºwµªµª¤@¤j°ï¥Û¦Çªd¡C

©Ò¦³¶Ã¤C¤KÁVªº¨Æ³£¦b¶i¦æµÛ¡AÁV¬OÁV³z¤F¡A¤£¹L«oº¡´r§Öªº¡C

¡@----- by Elizabeth Bishop 1911-1979

28.Pippa's Songµ\µ]¤§ºq

The year's at the spring, ¤@¦~¤§­p¦b©ó¬K¡A

And day's at the morn; ¤@¤é¤§­p¦b©ó±á¡F

Morning's at seven; ¤@±á¤§­p¦b©ó¤C®É¡F

The hillside's dew-pearled; ¤s©Y¤W¸ËÂIµÛ¬Ã¯]¯ëªºÅS¤ô¯]ÅS¡F

the lark's on the wing; ¶³³¶¦b­·¤¤­¸ÅD¡F

The snail's on the thorn; ¤sñö¤W½½¤ûª¦¦æ

God's in his heaven---¯«¦b¤Ñ°ó¥q¦t©z

All's right with the world! ¥@¤W¤@¤Á³£¤Ó¥­¡I

~~~by Robert Browning, 1812-1889

¡@

29.My Heart Leaps Up§Ú¤ß³¶ÅD

My heart leaps up when I behold ·í¤ÑÃä±m­i¬M¤J²´Ã®¡A

A rainbow in the sky: §Ú¤ß¬°¤§³¶ÅD¡F

So was it when my life began; ªì¥Í®É§Y¦p¦¹¡A

So is it now I am a man; §Ú²{¦b¤´¤£ÅÜ¡A

So be it when I shall grow old, ±N¨Ó¤]·|¦p¦¹¡A

Or let me die! §_«h§Ú¹çÄ@¦º¥h¡I

The Child is father of the Man; ¨àµ£¬O¦¨¤H¤§¤÷¡F

And I could wish my days to beÄ@¦ÛµM°@¸Ûªº·N©À¡A±N§Ú¥Í²Pªº¨C­Ó¤é¤l³s¦ê°_¨Ó¡C

Bound each to each by natural piety. ¦Û¥®¦Ü¦Ñ¡A²`«H¤£²¾¡C

~~~by William Wordsworth, 1770-1850

30.The Sea®ü

(1)

The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!®ü°Ú¡I®ü°Ú¡I¿ñÁ諸¤j®ü¡I

The blue, the fresh, the ever free! ºÑÂÅ¡A²M·s¡A¥Ã»·¦a¦Û¥Ñ¦Û¦b¡I

Without a mark, without a bound, ¨S¦³¼Ð»x¡A¨S¦³¹Ò¬É¡A

It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; ¥¦³ò¶µÛ¤j¦a¡F

It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; »P¶³±m¼^À¸¡A¦V»aªÆ¼J§Ë¡F

Or like a cradled creature lies. ¶¡©ÎÀ¦¨à¦ü¦aÀR½ö¦b·nÄxùØ¡C

(2)

I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea! §Ú¦b®ü¤W¡I§Ú¦b®ü¤W¡I

I am where I would ever be; ³o¨à¬O§Ú¥Ã»·Ä@«Ýªº¦a¤è¡F

With the blue above, and the blue below, ¤W¦³ÂÅÂŪº¤Ñ¡A¤U¦³ÂÅÂŪº®ü¡A

And silence wheresoe'er I go; ³B³B³£¬O¤@¤ù±I¹æ¡A

If a storm should come and awake the deep,§Y¨Ï­·®ö±N¨Ó³ê¿ô¤j®ü¡A

What matter? I shall ride and sleep.¦³¬Æ»òÃö«Y¡H¾r¦à¡A´N¹ì¬Ò¥Ñ§Ú¡C

(3)

I love (oh! how I love) to ride §Ú¼Ö©ó¡]°Ú¡I§Ú¦h»ò¼Ö©ó¡^¯è¦æ¡A

On the fierce foaming bursting tide,¦bªwªj¥û´c¦Ó±Yµõªº¼é¤ô¤W¡A

When every mad wave drowns the moon, ¦¹®É¨g®ö§]¨S¤F¤ë¼v¡A

Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, ¼SÁn°ª«µµÛ­·¼É¦±¡A

And tells how goes the world below, ¶É¶D©³¤Uªº¥@¬É¬O¦óµ¥¼Ò¼Ë¡A

And why the south-west blasts do blow. ¦è«n­·¤S¬°¦ó¦Ó§j¡C

(4)

I never was on the dull tame shore §Ú±q¤£¯dÅʳæ½Õ·Å¹¥ªº®ü©¤¡A

but I lov'd the great Sea more and more, ¥u¬O·U¨Ó·U¨H°g©ó®ü¤W¡A

And backwards flew to her billowy breast, ¹³³¾¨à´M§ä¥À±_¤@¯ë¡A

Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; ©¿¦£¦a­¸¦^¨ºÀÜÀÜ¥¨®öªºÃh©ê¡F

And mother she was, and is to me; ¹ï§Ú¦Ó¨¥¦o´N¬O·O¥À¡F

For I was born on the open Sea! ¦]¬°§Ú¥Íªø¦b®ü¤W¡I

~~~by Bryan W. Procter, 1787-1874

31.The Lamb

(1)

Little Lamb, who made thee? ¤p¦Ï¡A§A¬O½Ö³yªº¡H

Dost thou know who made thee? §A¥iª¾¹D½Ö³y§Aªº¡H

Gave thee life and bid thee feed ½ç§A¥Í©R¡B±Ð§A¦Y¯ó

By the stream and o'er the mead: ¦b·Ë¯`¡B¦bªª³õ¨ºÃä¡F

Gave thee clothing of delight, µ¹§A¥i·Rªº¦ç»n¡A

Softest clothing, woolly, bright; ³Ì³Ì¬X³n¡BÂк¡¦Ï¤ò¡B°{°{µo¥ú¡F

Gave thee such a tender voice, µ¹§A¦p¦¹¼b¹àªºÁn­µ¡A

Making all the vales rejoice? ¨Ï¤s¨¦¤W¤U¬°¤§³ß®®¡H

Little Lamb, who made thee? ¤p¦Ï¡A§A¬O½Ö³yªº¡H

Dost thou know who made thee? §A¥iª¾¹D½Ö³y§Aªº¡H

(2)

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; ¤p¦Ï¡A¤p¦Ï¡A§Ú¨Ó§i¶D§A¡F

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, ¤p¦Ï¡A¤p¦Ï¡A§Ú¨Ó§i¶D§A¡F

He is called by thy name, Э¥H§A¤§¦W¬°¦W¡A

For He calls Himself a Lamb. ¦]¬°Ð­ºÙ¦Û¤v¬°¤p¦Ï¡C

He is meek and He is mild; Э¬J·Å¶¶¤S©Mµ½¡F

He became a little child. ·íЭ­°¥Í¡A«K¦¨¬°¤@­Ó¤p«Ä¡C

I a child, and thou a lamb, §Ú¬O¤p«Ä¡A§A¬O¤p¦Ï¡A

We are called by His name. §Ú­Ì³£¬O¥HЭ¤§¦W¬°¦W¡C

Little Lamb, God bless thee! ¤p¦Ï¡AÄ@¯«¯¬ºÖ§A¡I

Little Lamb, God bless thee! ¤p¦Ï¡AÄ@¯«¯¬ºÖ§A¡I

~~~by William Blake

32.Written In March¼g©ó¤T¤ë

(1)

The cock is crowing, ¤½Âû¦b³Ú¡F

The stream is flowing, ¤p·Ë¦b¬y¡A

The small birds twitter, ¹n³¾¦b»ï¡A

The lake doth glitter, ´ò¤ô¤]¦b°{Ã{

The green fields sleep in the sun; ºñ³¥¦w¯v¦b¶§¥ú¤U¡F

The oldest and youngest ¦Ñªº¡B¤pªº

Are at work with the strongest; ©M°·§§ªº¤@°_¤u§@µÛ¡F

The cattle are grazing, ¤û¨à¦£¦Y¯ó¡A

Their heads never raising; ¤@ª½¤£©ïÀY¡F

There are forty feeding like one! Áö¦³¥|¤QÀY¡A¬Ý¦ü¤@ÀY¼Ë¡I

(2)

Like an army defeated µS¦p¾Ô±Ñªº­x¶¤¡A

The snow hath retreated, ³·¤w¿Ä°h¡A

And now doth fare ill ³o°}§ó¬O±ÑºG

On the top of the bare hill; ¦b·U¨£¥ú¨r¨rªº¤s©Y¤W¡F

The ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon ¯Ñµ£®É®É¦b¥ÐÃb©I³Û

There's joy in the mountains; ¯ºë¦¥Rº¡¤sªL¡A

There's life in the fountains, ¼Q¬u¬v·¸¥Í©R¡A

Small clouds are sailing, ¯B¶³ÄƹL¡A

Blue sky prevailing, ÂŤѺÉÅã¡A

The rain is over and gone. «B¹L¤Ñ´¸¡C

~~~by William Wordsworth

33.The Last Rose of Summer®L¤é³Ì«áªºª´ºÀ

(1)

'Tis the last rose of summer ³o¬O®L¤é³Ì«áªºª´ºÀ

Left blooming alone; ¿W¦Ûºì©ñµÛ¡F

All her lovely companions ©Ò¦³©õ¤é°Ê¤Hªº¦P¦ñ

Are faded and gone; ³£¤w­ä¸¨´Ý³u¡F

No flower of her kindred, ¨­®Ç¨S¦³¦PÃþªºªá¦·¡A

No rose-bud is nigh, ¨S¦³¥b­Óª´ºÀ­c¡A

to reflect back her blushes, ¬MŨ¦oªº¬õ¼í¡A

Or give sigh for sigh. ¤À¾á¦oªº¼~·T¡C

(2)

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! §Ú¤£·|Â÷¶}©·¹s¹sªº©p¡I

To pine on the stem; Åý©p³æ¿W¦a¼¬±|¡F

Since the lovely are sleeping, ¬JµM¬üÄRªº¦P¦ñ³£¤w¤J¯v¡A

Go, sleep thou with them. ¥h§a¡I©p¤]©M¦o­Ì¤@°_½öµÛ¡C

thus kindly I scatter ¬°¦¹¡A§Ú¦n¤ß¦b´²©ñ

Thy leaves o'er the bed ©pªºÄR¸­¦bªá§É¤W

Where thy mates of the garden ¨º¨à¡A¤]¬O©pªá¶éªº¦P¦ñ

Lie scentless and dead. µLÁnµL®§½öµÛªº¦a¤è¡C

(3)

Soon may I follow, ¤£¤[§Ú¤]¥i¯à°lÀH§ÚªB¤Í¦Ó¥h¡A

When friendships decay,·í¤Í½Ëº¥³u¡A

And from Love's shining circle ¹³±qÀéÄꤧ·R±¡°é¤¤

The gems drop away. ±¼¸¨ªºÄ_¥Û¡C

When true hearts lie withered, ·í©¾¸Ûªº¤Í¤H»·¥h¡A

And fond ones are flown, ©Ò·Rªº¤H­¸¨«¡A

O! who would inhabit °Ú¡I½ÖÁÙÄ@¯d¦b

This bleak world alone? ³o¯î§Nªº¥@¤W¿W¦Û²Y²D¡H

~~~by Thomas Moore, 1779-1852

34.Trees¾ð

(1)

I think that I shall never see §Ú·Q§Ú±q¥¼¨£¹L¤@­º

A poem lovely as a tree. ¬ü¦p¥É¾ðªº¸Ö³¹¡C

(2)

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest ¤@´Ê±iµÛ°§¾j¼L¤Úªº¾ð¡A

against the earth's sweet flowing breast; ºòÀ£¦b¤j¦a¥Ì¬ü¦Ó¬yºZªº¨Å©Ð¤W¡F

(3)

A tree that looks at God all day, ¤@´Ê¾ã¤Ñ±æµÛ¯«ªº¾ð¡A

And lifts her leafy arms to pray; Á|°_ªK¸­Ác­Zªº¤âÁu¨Ó¬èë¡F

(4)

A tree that may in summer wear ¤@´Ê¾ð¦b®L¤é¸Ì¥i¯à

A nest of robins in her hair; À¹µÛ¤@ºÛª¾§ó³¾¦bÀY¾v¤W¡F

(5)

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; ³·ªá°ï¿n¦b¦oªºÃh©ê¸Ì¡F

Who intimately lives with the rain. «B¤ô¤]©M¦o¿Ë¤Á¦a¥Í¬¡¦b¤@°_¡C

(6)

Poems are made by fools like me, ¹³§Ú³o¼Ë·M²Âªº¤H¥i¥H°µ¸Ö¡A

But only God can make a tree. ¦ý°ß¦³¯«¤è¯à³y¾ð¡C

~~~by Joyce Kilmer, 1886-1919

35.The Fountain¼Q¬u

(1)

Into the sunshine, ¶§¥ú¤U¡A

Full of the light, ¥Rº¡µÛ¥ú½÷¡A

Leaping and flashing ¸õÅDµÛ¡B°{Ã{µÛ

From morn till night! ±q¤é¥X¨ì¤é¸¨¡I

(2)

Into the moonlight, ¤ë¥ú¤U¡A

Whiter than snow, ¤ñ³·§ó¥Õ¡A

Waving so flower-like ·í­·§j©Ø®É¡A

When the winds blow! ªi°Ê¦³¦pªá¡I

(3)

Into the starlight, ¤ë¥ú¤U¡A

Rushing in spray, «æÂq°_ªwªj¡A

Happy at midnight, ¤È©]¸ÌÅw¼Ö¡A

Happy by day. ¥Õ¤Ñ¸Ì³¶ÅD¡C

(4)

Ever in motion, ¥Ã»·¸õ°ÊµÛ¡A

Blithesome and cheery, ´r§Ö¤SÅwªY¡A

Still climbing heavenward, ¥Ã»·¦V¤Ñ°ªÃk¡A

Never aweary; ±q¤£¯h¾Î¡F

(5)

Glad of all weathers, ¾AÀ³¦UºØ¤Ñ®ð¡A

Still seeming best, ¥Ã»·¬¡¤O¥R¨K¡A

Upward of downward ¤W¤W¤U¤U

Motion thy rest; ¬O¹B°Ê¤]¬O¥ð®§¡F

(6)

Full of a nature ¥Rº¡µÛ¬¡¤O

Nothing can tame, ¤£¨ü©ë§ô¡A

Changed every moment ®É®É¦³ÅܤơA

Ever the same. ¥Ã»·¤@¼Ë¡C

(7)

Ceaseless aspiring, ¤£Â_¤É°ª

Ceaseless content, ¤£Â_º¡¨¬

Darkness or sunshine ¶Â·t¸Ì¡A¶§¥ú¤U

Thy element; ³£¬O§A¬¡°Ê½d³ò¡F

(8)

Glorious fountain! ½÷·×ïú¥Øªº¼Q¬u¡I

Let my heart be ¦ýÄ@§Ú¤ß¦p§A¯ë

Fresh, changeful, constant, ²M·s¡A¦hÅÜ¡A°í©w

Upward like thee! ¥Ã»·¦V¤W¡I

~~~by James R. Lowell, 1819-1891

36.I Remember, I Remember§Ú¾Ð°_¡A§Ú¾Ð°_

(1)

I remember, I remember §Ú¾Ð°_¡A§Ú¾Ð°_

The house where I was born, ¨º´É¥X¥Í®Éªº«Î¦t¡A

the little window where the sun ¦­±á¡A¶§¥ú±q¤pµ¡¤¤

Came peeping in at morn: °½±æ¶i¥h¡G

He never came a wink too soon, ¥L±q¤£¦­¨Ó¤ù¨è¡A

Nor brought too long a day, ¤]¤£¦h¯d¥b®Î¡A

But now, I often wish the night  ¦ý¬O²{¦b¡A§Ú±`Ä@©]±ß

Had borne my breath away! ±a¨«§Úªº©I§l¡I

(2)

I remember, I remember §Ú¾Ð°_¡A§Ú¾Ð°_

The roses, red and white, ª´ºÀªá¶}¡A¦³¬õ¦³¥Õ

The vi'lets, and the lily-cups, µµÃ¹Äõ¡A¦Ê¦X

Those flowers made of light! ¨º¨Ç¥Ñ¥ú½÷ºc¦¨ªºªá¦·¡I

The lilacs where the robin built, ¦³ª¾§ó³¾¿v±_ªºµµ¤B­»¡A

And where my brother set ¦³­ô­ô¥Í¤é®É

The laburnum on his birthday,-- ºØ´Óªºª÷Áåªá¡A¡Ð¡Ð

The tree is living yet! ¨ÌµM±`«C¡I

(3)

I remember, I remember §Ú¾Ð°_¡A§Ú¾Ð°_

Where I was used to swing ¸g±`ÀúÂþÆHªº¦a¤è

and thought the air must rush as fresh ªï­±¦Ó¨Óªº­·¬O¦p¦¹²M²n

To swallows on the wing; ­¸¿P¤]»á¦³¦P·P¡F

My spirit flew in feathers then, ©õ¤é·N®ð´­´­ªº¤ßÆF¡A

That is so heavy now, ²{¦bÅܱo¦p¦¹¨H­«¡A

And summer pools could hardly cool ´N¬O®L¤éªº¦À¤ô¤]µLªk§N«o

The fever on my brow! §ÚÃBÀYªº¼ö¨g¡I

(4)

I remember, I remember §Ú¾Ð°_¡A§Ú¾Ð°_

The fir trees dark and high; ­Z±K°ªÁqªº§N§ü¡F

I used to think their slender tops §Ú´¿·Q¹³¥¦²ÓªøªºªK¦y

Were close against the sky; ¹Gªñ¤ÑªÅ¡F

It was a childish ignorance, ÁöµM¥u¬O¥®¸XµLª¾¡A

But now 'tis little joy ¦ý¬O¡A²{¦b«o¤Ö¦³¨º¯ë§Ö¼Ö

To know I'm farther off from heav'n ¦]¬°§Úª¾¹D¦Û¤v¤ñ«Äµ£®É¥N

Than when I was a boy! Â÷»aªÆ§ó»»»·¤F¡I

~~~by Thomas Hood, 1799-1845

37.The Daffodils¤ô¥Pªá

(1)

I wander'd lonely as a cloud §Ú¹³¤@¦·¯B¶³¿W¦Ûº©¹C

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, ÄÆ¹L²`¨¦¸s¤s¡A

When all at once I saw a crowd, ¬ðµM¶¡¡A¬Ý¨ì¤@¤ù

A host of golden daffodils, µL¼Æ¦·ªºª÷¦â¤ô¥Pªá¡A

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, ªø¦b´ò¯`¡Aªø¦b¾ð¤U¡A

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. ·L­·¤¤½¡½¡°_»R¡C

(2)

Continuous as the stars that shine ¤£Â_¦a¹³µo¥úªº¬P¤æ

And twinkle on the milky way, °{Ã{¦b»Èªe¤¤¡A

They stretch'd in never-ending line µL²PµL»Ú¦a©µ¦ù

Along the margin of a bay: ¦b®üÆW¤§ÀØ¡F

Ten thousand saw I at a glance ¤@¿h¶¡¡A§Ú¬Ý¨ì¦¨¤d¤W¸Uªº¤ô¥P¡A

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. ·n®ÌµÛ¥¦­Ìªº¤p¸£³U§Ö¼Ö¦a°_»R¡C

(3) 

The waves beside them danced, but they ®ü¤ô¦b¥¦­Ìªº¨­®Ç¼ê´û¡A

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:--- ¦ý¥¦­Ì¤ñ°{Ä£ªº®üªi§ó¬°´r§Ö¡G¡Ð

A poet could not but be gay ¸Ö¤H¤£±o¤£¥Ñ°JªY³ß

In such a jocund company! ¦b³o¼Ë´r®®ªº¤Í¦ñ¤§¤¤¡I

I gazed --- and gazed --- but little thought §Ú¬Ý¤F¤S¬Ý¡Ð¥i¬O«Ü¤Ö·Q¨ì

What wealth the show to me had brought; ³o´º¶H±aµ¹§Ú¦h»òÄ_¶Qªº°]´I¡F

(4)

For oft, when on my couch I lie ¦b¤ß¹ÒªÅµê©Î¨H«ä¤§»Ú¡A

In vacant or in pensive mood, §Ú±`¥õª×¦b¨Fµo¤W¡A

They flash upon that inward eye ¥¦­Ì±°¹L§Úªº¤ßÆF

Which is the bliss of solitude; ¨º¬O§Ú©t±I¤¤ªºµL¤W³ß¼Ö¡F

And then my heart with pleasure fills, ©ó¬O¡A§Ú¤ß¥Rº¡³ß®®¡A

And dances with the daffodils. »P¤ô¥P¦@¨É»R¨¬¤§¼Ö¡C

~~~by William Wordsworth

38.Old Black Joe¦Ñ¶Â³ì

(1)

Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay; ¨º¨Ç¤ßÀY¦~»´¡BµL¼~µL¼{ªº¤é¤l¤wÂ÷§Ú»·¥h

Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away; §Úªº¥ë¦ñ¤]Â÷¶}¤F´Öªá¥Ð

Gone from the earth to a better land I know, Â÷¶}³o¸Ì¨ì¤@­Ó§ó¦nªº¦a¤è¡A§Úª¾¹D

I hear their gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe!" §ÚÅ¥¨£¥L­Ì¬XÁn©I³ê

(Refrain:) I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low; ¡u¦Ñ¶Â³ì¡I¡v¡]¤ÏÂС^

I hear their gentle voices calling, §Ú¨Ó¤F¡A§Ú¨Ó¤F¡A¦]¬°§ÚªºÀYº¥º¥§C««¡F

"Old Black Joe!" §ÚÅ¥¨£¥L­Ì¬XÁn©I³ê¡u¦Ñ¶Â³ì¡I¡v

(2)

Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain? §Ú¬°¦ó­úª_¡A§Ú¤ß¨Ã¤£´d¶Ë¡H

Why do I sigh that my friends come not again? §Ú¬°¦ó­n¹Ä®§¥ë¦ñ¤£´_¨Ó¡H

Grieving for forms now departed long ago, ¥u¬°Ãh©À¦­¤w³u¥hªº¤H¡A

I hear their gentle voices calling, §ÚÅ¥¨£¥L­Ì¬XÁn©I³ê

"Old Black Joe!"¡u¦Ñ¶Â³ì¡I¡v

(3)

Where are thee hearts once so happy and so free? ©õ¤é§Ö¼ÖµLÅùªº¤H­Ì¡A¦p¤µ¦w¦b¡H

The children so dear that I held upon my knee? ÁÙ¦³¡A§Ú©ê¦b½¥¤W¥i·Rªº¤p³Ã¥ë¡H

Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go, ¥L­Ì³£¤w¨ì¤F§ÚÆF»î©Ò´÷±æ¥hªº®ü©¤¡A

I hear their gentle voices calling,§ÚÅ¥¨£¥L­Ì¬XÁn©I³ê

"Old Black Joe!"¡u¦Ñ¶Â³ì¡I¡v

~~~by Stephen C. Foster, 1826-1864

39.Home, Sweet Home²¢»eªº®a®x

(1)

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, ÁöµM§Ú­Ì¤]·|¨H°g©óÅw¼Ö»P°øÃû¤¤¡A

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! µL½×®a¬O¦h»ò²­®¡A¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W¥¦¡I

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, ¦n¦ü±qªÅ¦Ó­°ªºÅ]¤O¡A¨Ï§Ú­Ì¦b®aı±o¸t¼ä

Which seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere, ´N¬O§ä¹M¥þ¥@¬É¡A¤]§ä¤£¨ì¹³³o¼Ëªº¦a¤è¡A

Home! Home! Sweet, sweet Home! ®a°Ú¡I®a°Ú¡I²¢»eªº®a°Ú¡I

There's no place like Home! There's no place like Home! ¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W®a¡I¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W®a¡I

(2)

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild, ¨C·í§Úº©¨B¯î³¥¾®µø©ú¤ë¡A

And feel that my mother now thinks of her child, «K·Q°_¥À¿Ë¥¿±}©ÀµÛ¦oªº«Ä¤l¡A

As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door, ·í¦o±q­TªÙªù¤f»»±æ©ú¤ë®É¡A

Through the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more. ¬ï¹L¥V§Ô¾ðÂO¡A¿@­§¾ð­»¦A¤]¤£¯à¦w¼¢§Úªº¤ßÆF¡C

Home! Home! Sweet, sweet Home!®a°Ú¡I®a°Ú¡I²¢»eªº®a°Ú¡I

There's no place like Home! There's no place like Home!¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W®a¡I¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W®a¡I

(3)

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; ¹ï¤@­ÓÂ÷¶m­I¤«ªº¹C¤l¡A¦AµØÄRªº¥ú½÷¡A¤]¬O®{µM°{Ã{¡F

Oh, give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again! ¤@´É¸Gò­TªÙ¡I

The birds singing gaily, that came at my call--- ¤@©I§Y¨Óªº³¾¨à¥¿¦bÅw°Û

Give me them, -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all! ½çµ¹¨e­Ì¡ÐÁÙ¦³¤ßÆFªº¥­ÀR¡A³o¨Ç³Ó¹L¤@¤Á¡I

Home! Home! Sweet, sweet Home!®a°Ú¡I®a°Ú¡I²¢»eªº®a°Ú¡I

There's no place like Home! There's no place like Home!¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W®a¡I¨S¦³¦a¤è¤ñ±o¤W®a¡I

~~~by John H. Payne, 1791-1852

40.God Save The Queen¯«¦ö¤k¤ý

(1)

God save our gracious Queen, Ä@¯«¦ö§Ú¤¯·O¤k¤ý¡A

Long live our noble Queen, Ä@§Ú°¶¤j¤k¤ýªø©R¦Ê·³¡A

God save the Queen! Ä@¯«¦ö§Ú¤k¤ý¡I

Send her victorious, ½ç¦o³Ó§Q¡A

Happy and glorious, ©¯ºÖ»PºaÄ£¡A

Long to reign over us. ªø¤[ªv²z§Ú­Ì¡C

God save the Queen! Ä@¯«¦ö§Ú¤k¤ý¡I

(2)

O Lord our God arise, °Ú¡I¤Ñ¥D¡A§Ú­Ìªº¯«½Ð¯¸°_¨Ó

Scatter her enemies, ÅX´²¦oªº¼Ä¤H¡A

And make them fall.¨Ï¥L­Ì¼ì±Ñ¡C

Confound their politics, ¨Ï¥L­Ìªº¬Fªv²V¶Ã¡A

Frustrate their knavish tricks, ¯}Ãa¥L­Ìªº´Û¶B§Þ­Ç¡A

On thee our hopes we fix. §Ú­Ì§â§Æ±æ±H°U¦b±zªº¨­¤W¡C

God save the Queen!Ä@¯«¦ö§Ú¤k¤ý¡I

(3)

Thy choicest gifts in store, ¯S¿ïªºÂ§ª«¥¿¶JÂõÛ

On her be pleased to pour, ¼Ö·N¦a½çµ¹¤k¤ý

Long may she reign. Ä@¦oªø¤[¦aªv²z

May she defend our laws, Ä@¦oºûÅ@§Ú­Ìªºªk¬ö

And ever give  us cause, ¨Ï§Ú­Ì¥Ã»·¦³²z¥Ñ

To sing with heart and voice. ¤ß¤f¦X¤@¦a°Û¥X

God save the Queen!Ä@¯«¦ö§Ú¤k¤ý¡I

~~~National Anthem

41.Silent Night¥­¦w©]

(1)

Silent night! Holy night! ¥­¦w©]¡I¸tµ½©]¡I

All is calm, all is bright! ¤@¤Á³£¦wÀR¡A¤@¤Á³£©ú¼ä¡I

Round yon virgin mother and child!¶µÛ¸t¥À©M¸tÀ¦¡I

Holy Infant, so tender and mild, ¦h»ò¬X¶¶·Å¹¥ªº¸tÀ¦¡A

Sleep in heavenly peace, ¤Ñ½ç¦w¯v¡A

Sleep in heavenly peace. ¤Ñ½ç¦w¯v¡C

(2)

Silent night! Holy night! ¥­¦w©]¡I¸tµ½©]¡I

Shepherds quake at the sight! ¨Ïªª¦Ï¤HIJ¥Ø¦Ó·X

Glories stream from heaven afar, ¥úºaªº·Ë¬y»·±q¤Ñ°ó¬y¤U¡A

Heav'nly hosts sing Alleluia; ¤Ñ¨Ï§u°Û«¢§Q¸ô¨È¡F

Christ the Savior is born! ±Ï¥D­C¿q½Ï¥Í¡I

Christ the Savior is born! ±Ï¥D­C¿q½Ï¥Í¡I

(3)

Silent night! Holy night!¥­¦w©]¡I¸tµ½©]¡I

Son of God, love's pure light ¯«¤§¤l¡A·Rªº²®¼ä¥ú½÷

Radiant beams from thy holy face, ±q§A¸tÃC¤Wµo¥XÄ£¥Øªº¥ú½÷

With the dawn of redeeming grace, ¦ñÀHµÛ±ÏÅ«§»®¦ªº¾¤©ú¡A

Jesus, Lord, at thy birth, ­C¿q¡A§Ú¥D¡A¦b±z½Ï¥Íªº®É¨è¡A

Jesus, Lord, at thy birth. ­C¿q¡A§Ú¥D¡A¦b±z½Ï¥Íªº®É¨è¡C

~~~by Franz Gruber, 1787-1863

42.Jingle, Bells¹a¨àÅT¥m¾´

(1)

Dashing thro' the snow, ©b¹£¹L³·¦a¡A

In a one-horse open sleigh, °¦°¨µL½´ªº³·¨®¡A

O'er the fields we go, §Ú­Ì¶V¹L¥Ð³¥¡A

Laughing all the way; ¤@¸ô¯º»y¤£µ´¡F

Bells on bobtail ring, ¹a¨à¦bºIµuªº°¨§À¤WÅT¥m¾´¡A

Making spirits bright; ¨Ï§Ú­Ìªººë¯«´r§Ö¡F

What fun it is to ride and sing ¤µ±ß¾rµÛ³·¨®°Û³·¨®ºq

A sleighing song tonight! ¼Ö¦ü¬¡¯«¥P¡I

(Refrain:) Jingle, bells! Jingle, bells!¡]¤ÏÂС^¹a¨àÅT¡I¹a¨àÅT¡I

Jingle all the way! ¤@¸ôÅT¥m¾´¡I

Oh! What fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh! °Ú¡I§¤¦b°¦°¨½´ªº³·¨®¤W¡A®@¡I»¡¦h¼Ö¦³¦h¼Ö¡I

(2)

Now the ground is white, ¤j¦a¤@¤ù³·¥Õ¡A

Go it while you're young; ¶XµÛ¦~»´¥h§a¡F

Take the girls tonight, ¤µ©]±aµÛ¤k«Ä­Ì¡A

And sing this sleighing song. °ÛµÛ³·¨®ºq¡C

Just get a bob-tailed bay, §ä°¦µu§À½Å°¨¡A

Two-forty for his speed; ¨C¤ÀÄÁ240¨B¡F

then hitch him to an open sleigh, ô¦bµL½´³·¨®¤W¡A

And crack! You'll take the lead. ¼A°Ô¼A°Ô¡I¥Ñ§A±a¸ô¡C

43.

Just

44.

Just

45.

Just

ªá±^°ê¤¤±iÄm±Ó¾ã²z July 4, 1999

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