(完整word版)EmilyDickinson关于死亡的诗歌汇总

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英文诗词：感受狄金森的“死亡”

英文诗词:感受狄金森的“死亡”英文诗词:感受狄金森的“死亡”之一：多远至天堂How far is it to Heaven?As far as Death this way—Of River or of Ridge beyondWas no discovery.How far is it to Hell?As far as Death this way—How far left hand the SepulcherDefies Topography.多远至天堂?其遥如死亡;越过山与河,不知路何方.多远至地狱?其遥如死亡;多远左边坟,地形学难量.之二：对人类而言太晚It was too late for Man -But early, yet for God -Creation - impotent to help -But Prayer - remained - Our Side -How excellent the Heaven -When Earth - cannot be had -How hospitable - then - the faceOf our Old Neighbor God -对人类而言太晚可对于上帝还早创世，虚弱无力的帮助可剩下的，我们还能够祈祷当地上不能存在天堂是何等美妙那时，我们老邻居上帝的.表情会多么好客，殷勤，周到注：艾米莉-狄金森 (Emily Dickinson) (1830～1886) ：美国女诗人，写过一千七百多首令人耳目一新的短诗。

诗风独特，以文字细腻、观察敏锐、意象突出著称。

题材多半是关于自然、死亡和永生的。

【诗】艾米莉·狄金森：诗歌小选

【诗】艾米莉·狄金森：诗歌小选1632So give me back to Death --The Death I never fearedExcept that it deprived of thee --And now, by Life deprived,In my own Grave I breatheAnd estimate its size --Its size is all that Hell can guess --And all that Heaven was --那么把我给回死亡—[1632]那么把我还给死亡—那个我从不恐惧的死亡除了它让你丧失—而今，当生命被剥夺，我在自己的坟墓里，呼吸并估计着它的大小—它的大小是整个地狱能猜出的—还有整个天堂—1637Is it too late to touch you, Dear?We this moment knew --Love Marine and Love terrene --Love celestial too --去触摸你太晚么，亲爱的?[1637]去触碰你是否已经太晚，亲爱的？此刻我们已经知道—去爱海洋和陆地—还有天空—480"Why do I love" You,Sir?Because-The Wind does not require the Grass To answer- Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her placeBecause He knows-andDo not You-And We know not-The Wisdon it be so-The Lighting-never asked an Eye Wherefore it shut- when He was by- Because He knows it cannot speak- And reasons not contained--Of Talk-There be- preferred by Daintier Folk-The Sunrise- Sire- compelleth Me- Because He's Sunrise- and I see- Therefore- Then-I love Thee-“为什么我爱”你，先生？因为- 风，从不要求小草回答，为什么他经过她就不能不动摇因为他知道，而你你不知道-我们不知道-我们有这样的智慧也就够了闪电，从不询问眼睛，为什么他经过时，要闭上-因为他知道，它说不出来-有些道理-难以言传-高尚的人宁愿，会意-日出，先生，使我不能自已因为他是日出，我看见了-所以，于是-我爱你-449I died for Beauty- but was scarce Adjusted in the TombWhen One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining room-He questioned softly"why I failed"? "For Beauty",I replied-"And I- for Truth- Themself are One- We Brethren,are",He said-And so, as Kinsmen,met a Night- We talked between the Rooms- Until the Moss had reached our lips- And covered up- our names-我为美而死，对坟墓几乎还不适应-一个殉真理的烈士就成了我的近邻-他轻声问我“为什么倒下？”我回答他：“为了美”-他说：“我为真理，真与美-是一体，我们是兄弟”-就这样，像亲人，黑夜相逢-我们隔着房间谈心知直到苍苔长上我们的嘴唇覆盖掉，我们的姓名_____________________________。

Emily Dickinson--I Died for Beauty

2.3. Metaphor 1. Tone this poem use Why "I" ? Most poems talks failed-->died about death in a It expresses passive gloomy or the poet's feelings Night-->death met a and thought tone, however Emily about death directly. Dickinson uses arouse a Besides, this can the Rooms-->social
他说:“我们也是兄弟。”
于是，我们像兄弟在黑夜里相逢。隔着那坟墓喋喋低语，
We talked between the Rooms-Until the Moss had reached our lips-And covered up--our names--
直到那苔藓封住了我们的嘴唇，
遮住了那墓碑上—— 我们的名字。
you are rich or poor, no matter which
classes you belong to, no matter what
you died for, people are the same after
their death. With time passing, they
will be forgotten by the later
He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied-"And I--for Truth--Themself are One--

Emily Dickson

While she was living in almost total seclusion(隐居), she wrote in secret whatever she was able to feel, to see, to hear and whatever she was able to imagine. She wrote whenever and wherever. She wrote altogether 1800poems, of which only seven appeared in print in her lifetime. and it was not until the beginning of the 20th century that her genius was widely recognized. Emily Dickinson died on 15 May 1886, at the age of fifty-six.
The Eyes around -- had wrung them dry --
And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset -- when the King Be witnessed -- in the Room -
注视我的眼睛——泪水已经流尽—— 我的呼吸正渐渐变紧等待最后的时刻——上帝在房间里现身的时刻——降临
assonance and rhetoric techniques: personification – make some of abstract ideas vivid.
5. her poetry is unique and unconventional in

EmilyDickinsonIheardaFlybuzz--whenIdied

EmilyDickinsonIheardaFlybuzz--whenIdiedI hear a Fly buzz-- when I diedEmily DickinsonI heard a Fly buzz--when I died--The Stillness in the RoomWas like the Stillness in the Air--Between the Heaves of Storm--The Eyes around--had wrung them dry--And Breaths were gathering firmFor that last Onset--when the KingBe witnessed--in the Room--I willed my Keepsakes--Signed awayWhat portions of me beAssignable--and then it wasThere interposed a Fly--With Blue--uncertain stumbling Buzz-- Between thelight--and me--And then the Windows failed--and thenI could not see to see--我听到苍蝇的嗡嗡声——当我死时艾米利.狄金森我听到苍蝇的嗡嗡声——当我死时房间里，一片沉寂就像空气突然平静下来——在风暴的间隙注视我的眼睛——泪水已经流尽—我的呼吸正渐渐变紧等待最后的时刻——上帝在房间里现身的时刻——降临我已经分掉了——关于我的所有可以分掉的东西——然后我就看见了一只苍蝇——蓝色的——微妙起伏的嗡嗡声在我——和光——之间然后窗户关闭——然后我眼前漆黑一片——Introduction to the PoetEmily Dickinson led one of the most prosaic lives of any great poet. At a time when fellow poet Walt Whitman was ministering to the Civil War wounded and traveling across America—a time when America itself was reeling in the chaos of war, the tragedy of the Lincoln assassination, and the turmoil of Reconstruction—Dickinson lived a relatively untroubled life in her father’s house in Amherst, Massachusetts, where she was born in 1830 and where she died in 1886. Although popular myth often depicts Dickinson as the solitary genius, she, in fact, remained relatively active in Amherst social circles and often entertained visitors throughout her life. However, she was certainly more isolated than a poet such as Whitman: Her world was bounded by her home and its surrounding countryside; the great events of her day play little role in her poetry. Whitman eulogized Lincoln andwrote about the war; Dickinson, one of the great poets of inwardness ever to write in English, was no social poet—one could read through her Collected Poems—1,776 in all—and emerge with almost no sense of the time in which she lived. Of course, social and historical ideas and values contributed in shaping her character, but Emily Dickinson’s ultimate context is herself, the milieu of her mind.Dickinson is simply unlike any other poet; her compact, forceful language, characterized formally by long disruptive dashes, heavy iambic meters, and angular, imprecise rhymes, is one of the singular literary achievements of the nineteenth century. Her aphoristic style, whereby substantial meanings are compressed into very few words, can be daunting, but many of her best and most famous poems are comprehensible even on the first reading. During her lifetime, Dickinson published hardly any of her massive poetic output (fewer than ten of her nearly 1,800 poems) and was utterly unknown as a writer. After Dickinson’s death, her sister discovered her notebooks and published the contents, thus, presenting America with a tremendous poetic legacy that appeared fully formed and without any warning. As a result, Dickinson has tended to occupy a rather uneasy place in the canon of American poetry; writers and critics have not always known what to make of her. Today, her place as one of the two finest American poets of the nineteenth century is secure: Along with Whitman, she literally defines the very era that had so little palpable impact on her poetry.SummaryThe speaker says that she heard a fly buzz as she lay on her deathbed. The room was as still as the air bet ween “the Heaves” of a storm. The eyes around her had cried themselves out, and the breaths were firming themselves for “that last Onset,” the moment when, metaphorically, “the King / Be witnessed—in the Room—.” The speaker made a will and “Signed away / W hat portion of me be / Assignable—” and at that moment, she heard the fly. It interposed itself “With blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—” between the speaker and the light; “the Windows failed”; and then she died (“I could not see to see—”).Form“I heard a Fly buzz” employs all of Dickinson’s formal patterns: trimeter and tetrameter iambic lines (four stresses in the first and third lines of each sta nza, three in the second and fourth, a pattern Dickinson follows at her most formal); rhythmic insertion of the long dash to interrupt the meter; and an ABCB rhyme scheme. Interestingly, all the rhymes before the final stanza are half-rhymes (Room/Storm, firm/Room, be/Fly), while only the rhyme in t he final stanza is a full rhyme (me/see). Dickinson uses this technique to build tension; a sense of true completion comes only with the speaker’s dea th.CommentaryOne of Dickinson’s most famous poems, “I heard a Fly buzz” strikingly describes the mental distraction posed by irrelevant details at even the most crucial moments—even at the moment of death. The poem then becomes even weirder and more macabre by transforming the tiny, normally disregarded flyinto the figure of death itself, as the fly’s wing cuts the speaker off from the light until she cannot “see to see.” But the fly does not grow in power or stature; its final severing act is performed “With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—.” This poem is also remarkable for its detailed evocation of a deathbed scene—the dying person’s loved ones steeling themselves for th e end, the dying woman signing away in her will “What portion of me be / Assignable” (a turn of phrase that seems more Shakespearean than it does Dickinsonian).Edited by Lisa An(reference taken from Sparknotes)。

艾米莉·狄金森《我为美而死》及诗歌中死亡意象

艾米莉·狄金森《我为美而死》及诗歌中死亡意象艾米莉·狄金森（EmilyDickinson，1830—1886），美国女诗人。

出生于律师家庭，青少年时代生活单调而平静，受正规宗教教育。

20岁开始写诗，早期的诗大都已散失。

从25岁起弃绝社交，女尼似的闭门不出，在孤独中埋头写诗30年，在文学史上被称为“阿默斯特的女尼”，留下诗稿1775首，生前只发表过7首，其余的都是在死后才出版，并被世人所知，名气极大。

狄更生的诗主要写生活情趣，自然、生命、信仰、友谊、爱情。

诗风凝练婉约、意向清新，描绘真切、精微，思想深沉、凝聚力强，极富独创性，被视为20世纪现代主义诗歌的先驱之一。

I Died for BeautyI died for beauty－－but was scarceAdjusted in the TombWhen one who died for Truth，was lainIn the adjoining Room－－He questioned softly“Why I failed?”“For beauty，”I replied－－“And I－－for Truth－－Themself are OneWe Brethren，are，”He said－－And so，as Kinsmen，met a Night－－We talked between the Rooms－－Until the Moss had reached our lips－－And covered up－－our names－－我为美而死去我为美而死——对坟墓几乎，还不适应一个殉真理的烈士就成了我的近邻——他轻声问我“为什么倒下？”我回答他：“为了美”——他说：“我为真理，真与美——是一体，我们是兄弟”——就这样，像亲人，黑夜相逢——我们，隔着房间谈心——直到苍苔长上我们的嘴唇——覆盖掉，我们的姓名——《我为美而死》是女诗人对美与真理关系进行探讨的一首诗。

EmilyDickinson关于死亡的诗歌汇总

1）Becau‎s e I could‎not stop for Death‎Becau‎s e I could‎not stop for Death‎—He kindl‎y stopp‎e d for me—The Carri‎a ge held but just Ourse‎l ves—And Immor‎t alit‎y.We slowl‎y drove‎—He knew no haste‎And I had put awayMy labor‎and my leisu‎r e too,For His Civil‎i ty—We passe‎d the Schoo‎l, where‎Child‎r en strov‎e At Reces‎s—in the RingWe passe‎d the Field‎s of Gazin‎g Grain‎—We passe‎d the Setti‎n g Sun—Or rathe‎r—He passe‎d Us—The Dews drew quive‎r ing and chill‎—For only Gossa‎m er, my Gown—My Tippe‎t—only Tulle‎—We pause‎d befor‎e a House‎that seeme‎dA Swell‎i ng of the Groun‎d—The Roof was scarc‎e ly visib‎l e—The Corni‎c e—in the Groun‎d—Since‎then—'tis Centu‎r ies—and yetFeels‎short‎e r than the DayI first‎surmi‎s ed the Horse‎s' Heads‎Were towar‎d Etern‎i ty—2) I felt a funer‎a l in my brain‎I felt a funer‎a l in my brain‎,And mourn‎e rs to and fro,Kept tread‎i ng, tread‎i ng, till it seeme‎dThat sense‎was break‎i ng throu‎g h.And when they all were seate‎d,A servi‎c e like a drumKept beati‎n g, beati‎n g, till I thoug‎h tMy mind was going‎numb.And then I heard‎them lift a boxAnd creak‎acros‎s my soulWith those‎same boots‎of lead again‎,Then space‎began‎to tollAs all the heave‎n s were a bell,And being‎but an ear,And I and silen‎c e some stran‎g e race,Wreck‎e d solit‎a ry here.And then a plank‎in reaso‎n broke‎,And I dropp‎e d down and downAnd hit a world‎at every‎plung‎e,And finis‎h ed knowi‎n g, then.7) There‎'s been a death‎in the oppos‎i te house‎There‎'s been a death‎in the oppos‎i te house‎As latel‎y as today‎.I know it by the numb lookSuch house‎s have alway‎.The neigh‎b ors rustl‎e in and out,The docto‎r drive‎s away.A windo‎w opens‎like a pod,Abrup‎t, mecha‎n ical‎l y;Someb‎o dy fling‎s a mattr‎e ss out, -The child‎r en hurry‎by;They wonde‎r if It died on that, -I used to when a boy.The minis‎t er goes stiff‎l y inAs if the house‎were his,And he owned‎all the mourn‎e rs now,And littl‎e boys besid‎e s;And then the milli‎n er, and the manOf the appal‎l ing trade‎,To take the measu‎r e of the house‎.There‎'ll be that dark parad‎eOf tasse‎l s and of coach‎e s soon;It's easy as a sign, - The intui‎t ion of the news In just a count‎r y town.。

Emily Dickinson七首

译Emily Dickinson七首nude258有这样一道斜光，冬日午后——压迫着，有如教堂旋律的重——神圣的伤，它给了我们——我们找不到疤痕，但内在的差异，其意义，是——没人能够讲授的——任何人——这是绝望之印——一份堂皇的烦忧从空中传给我们——它来时，山水谛听——阴影——屏息——它走时，就像死神脸上的迷离——419我们渐渐习惯了黑暗者——光被收了起来——当邻居拿着灯为她的告别作证——片刻之后——我们犹疑地为夜的新而举步——然后——让我们的视力适应黑暗者——来到路上——直立着——还有更宽广的——黑暗——脑子里的那些夜晚——没有月亮泄漏征兆——或星星——出现——在里面——最勇敢者——一点点摸索着——有时前额一头撞在树上——但当他们学会了看——不是黑暗产生了变化——就是视力的某些成分调整自己适应了午夜——生命就几乎畅行无阻449我死于美——却依然匮乏于是在坟墓里调校着邻室躺着，一个死于真的人——他轻声问“为何我落败了”？“因为美”，我回答——“而我——因为真——它们本是一体。

我们原是兄弟”，他说——因此，如同亲人，相遇在夜晚——我们隔着墙壁交谈——直到苔藓长上我们的嘴唇——并且覆盖——我们的名字——458像注视废物的眼睛——怀疑着一切而空白——和持续的荒芜——被夜晚变得多变——仅仅是零的无限——远至它视力可及——那么看看我所轻视的脸庞——看看它自身——看我——我没有给它帮助——因为那起因属于我——这致密的不幸这样绝望——如同预言——既无法——被赦免——也无法成为女王缺失了另一个——为此——我们枯朽——尽管我们掌权——592谁在意死者，在鸡鸣之时——谁在意死者，当白日来临？已经迟了，你的日出让他们面容懊恼——而紫色的秽语——在清晨如空白般倾泻在他们身上像倾泻在一面泥瓦匠昨日砌好的墙上并且同样冰冷——谁在意死者，当夏季到来？夏至也没有日光能消耗他们门口的积雪——并且知道某只鸟的鸣叫——能让他们凹陷的耳朵发颤众鸟中的——这一只——人最喜欢的从此倍受珍爱——谁在意死者，当冬季到来？他们易被冻结——像南方的——如同一月的夜晚——六月的中午——她的微风来自无花果——或者肉桂——在石块里沉淀将这石块给人——散发着香气——用以取暖——761从空白到空白——了无线索之路我拖着机械的脚步——停止——毁灭——或前进——都漫不经心——若我抵达终点它结束于被泄漏的不确定之外——我闭上眼——并摸索着它轻了一些——装作失明——1153经过怎样耐心的出神我抵达了麻木的极乐为了呼吸失去你的空白请为我验证这个和这个——籍着那荒凉的欢欣我几乎赢得了这个你那死亡的特权为我将这个缩略——返回PresentimentPresentiment -- is that long shadow -- on the Lawn -- Indicative that Suns go down --The Notice to the startled GrassThat Darkness -- is about to pass --I'm NobodyI'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 frog --To tell your name the livelong JuneTo an admiring bog.I Never Saw a MoorI never saw a Moor --I never saw the Sea --Yet know I how the Heather looksANd what a Billow be.I never spoke with GodNor visited in Heaven --Yet certain am I of the spot.As if the Checks were given.[作者简介]Emily Dickinson(1830-1886)．在美国文学史上属于超验主义作家,深受爱默生的影响．她的诗段小精悍，许多诗只基于一个意象或象征．她自1862年起过着足不出户的隐居生活，然而她的诗却让感到强大的想象力和创造力．她的诗在句法结构和标点符号的使用上都独具一格，更加强了她的诗的魅力．。

Emily Dickinson的短诗

Emily Dickinson’s poetry1Because I could not stop for Death,He kindly stopped for me;The carriage held but just ourselvesAnd 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 played,Their lessons scarcely done;We passed the fields of gazing grain,We passed the setting sun.We paused before a house that seemedA swelling of the ground;The roof was scarcely visible.The cornice but a mound.Since then 'tis centuries but eachFeels shorter than the dayI first surmised the horses' headsWere toward eternity.2Bustle In A House~The bustle in a houseThe morning after deathIs solemnest of industriesEnacted upon earth.The sweeping up the heartAnd putting love awayWe shall not want to use againUntil eternity.3"Hope" is the thing with feathersThat perches in the soulAnd sings the tune without the wordsAnd never stops at all,And sweetest in the gale is heard;And sore must be the stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I've heard it in the chillest landAnd on the strangest sea,Yet never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of me.4"Faith" is a fine inventionFor gentlemen who see,But Microscopes are prudentIn an emergency!5’T is so much joy! ’T is so much joy!If I should fail, what poverty!And yet, as poor as IHave ventured all upon a throw;Have gained! Yes! Hesitated soThis side the victory!Life is but life, and death but death!Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!And if, indeed, I fail,At least to know the worst is sweet.Defeat means nothing but defeat,No drearier can prevail!And if I gain,—oh, gun at sea,Oh, bells that in the steeples be,At first repeat it slow!For heaven is a different thingConjectured, and waked sudden in,And might o’erwhelm me so!6It was not death, for I stood up,And all the dead lie down.It was not night, for all the bellsPut out their tongues for noon.It was not frost, for on my fleshI felt siroccos crawl,Nor fire, for just my marble feetCould keep a chancel cool.And yet it tasted like them all,The figures I have seenSet orderly for burialReminded me of mine,As if my life were shavenAnd fitted to a frameAnd could not breathe without a key,And 'twas like midnight, some,When everything that ticked has stoppedAnd space stares all around,Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,Repeal the beating ground;But most like chaos, stopless, cool,Without a chance, or spar,Or even a report of landTo justify despair.7Success is counted sweetestBy those who ne’er succeed.To comprehend a nectarRequires sorest need.Not one of all the purple hostWho took the flag to-dayCan tell the definition,So clear, of victory,As he, defeated, dying,On whose forbidden earThe distant strains of triumphBreak, agonized and clear8IF I can stop one heart from breaking,I shall not live in vain;If I can ease one life the aching,Or cool one pain,Or help one fainting robinUnto his nest again,I shall not live in vain.9Much madness is divinest senseTo a discerning eye;Much sense the starkest madness.’T i s the majorityIn this, as all, prevails.Assent, and you are sane;Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous,And handled with a chain.10A wounded deer leaps highest,I've heard the hunter tell;T'is but the ecstasy of death,And then the brake is still.The smitten rock that gushes,The trampled steel that springs:A cheek is always redderJust where the hectic stings!Mirth is the mail of anguish,In which it caution arm,Lest anybody spy the bloodAnd Youre hurt exclaim!11A PRECIOUS, mould eringpleasure ’t isTo meet an antique book,In just the dress his century wore;A privilege, I think,His venerable hand to take,And warming in our own,A passage back, or two, to makeo times when he was young.His quaint opinions to inspect,His knowledge to unfoldOn what concerns our mutual mind,The literature of old;What interested scholars most,What competitions ranWhen Plato was a certainty,And Sophocles a man;When Sappho was a living girl,And Beatrice woreThe gown that Dante deified.Facts, centuries before,He traverses familiar,As one should come to townAnd tell you all your dreams were true:He lived where dreams were born.His presence is enchantment,You beg him not to go;Old volumes shake their vellum headsAnd tantalize, just so.12I felt a funeral in my brain,And mourners, to and fro,Kept treading, treading, till it seemedThat sense was breaking through.And when they all were seated,A service like a drumKept beating, beating, till I thoughtMy mind was going numb.And then I heard them lift a box,And creak across my soulWith those same boots of lead, again.Then space began to tollAs all the heavens were a bell,And Being but an ear,And I and silence some strange race,Wrecked, solitary, here.- Emily Dickinson13There is no frigate like a bookTo take us lands away,Nor any coursers like a pageOf prancing poetry.This traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppress of toll;How frugal is the chariotThat bears a human soul!14XVITO fight aloud is very brave,But gallanter, I know,Who charge within the bosom,The cavalry of woe.Who win, and nations do not see,Who fall, and none observe,Whose dying eyes no countryRegards with patriot love.We trust, in plumed procession,For such the angels go,Rank after rank, with even feetAnd uniforms of snow.15I taste a liquor never brewed,From tankards scooped in pearl;Not all the vats upon the RhineYield such an alcohol!Inebriate of air am I,And debauchee of dew,Reeling, through endless summer days,From inns of molten blue.When landlords turn the drunken beeOut of the foxglove's door,When butterflies renounce their drams,I shall but drink the more!Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,And saints to windows run,To see the little tipplerLeaning against the sun!16Who never lost, are unpreparedA Coronet to find!Who never thirstedFlagons, and Cooling Tamarind!Who never climbed the weary league—Can such a foot exploreThe purple territoriesOn Pizarro's shore?How many Legions overcome—The Emperor will say?How many Colors takenOn Revolution Day?How many Bullets bearest?Hast Thou the Royal scar?Angels! Write "Promoted"On this Soldier's brow!17Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?Then crouch within the door --Red -- is the Fire's common tint --But when the vivid OreHas vanquished Flame's conditions,It quivers from the ForgeWithout a color, but the lightOf unanointed Blaze.Least Village has its BlacksmithWhose Anvil's even ringStands symbol for the finer ForgeThat soundless tugs -- within --Refining these impatient OresWith Hammer, and with BlazeUntil the Designated LightRepudiate the Forge –18I can wade Grief—Whole Pools of it—I'm used to that—But the least push of JoyBreaks up my feet—And I tip—drunken—Let no Pebble—smile—'Twas the New Liquor—That was all!Power is only Pain—Stranded, thro' Discipline,Till Weights—will hang—Give Balm—to Giants—And they'll wilt, like Men—Give Himmaleh—They'll Carry—Him!19For each ecstatic instantWe must an anguish payIn keen and quivering rationTo the ecstasy.For each beloved hourSharp pittances of years—Bitter contested farthings—And Coffers heaped with Tears!20The only news I knowIs bulletins all dayFrom immortality:The only shows I seeTomorrow and today.Perchance eternity.The only one I meetIs God, the only streetExistence; this traversed.If other news there beOr admirabler show,I’ll tell it you.21Wild nights! Wild nights!Were I with thee,Wild nights should beOur luxury!Futile the windsTo a heart in port,Done with the compass,Done with the chart.Rowing in Eden!Ah! the sea!Might I but moorTo-night in thee!22My life closed twice before its close;It yet remains to seeIf Immortality unveilA third event to me,So huge, so hopeless to conceive,As these that twice befell.Parting is all we know of heaven,And all we need of hell23Empty my Heart, of Thee --Its single Artery --Begin, and leave Thee out --Simply Extinction's Date --Much Billow hath the Sea --One Baltic -- They --Subtract Thyself, in play,And not enough of meIs left -- to put away --"Myself" meanth Thee --Erase the Root -- no Tree --Thee -- then -- no me --The Heavens stripped --Eternity's vast pocket, picked --24I know that He exists.Somewhere -- in Silence --He has hid his rare lifeFrom our gross eyes.'Tis an instant's play.'Tis a fond Ambush --Just to make BlissEarn her own surprise!But -- should the playProve piercing earnest --Should the glee -- glaze --In Death's -- stiff -- stare --Would not the funLook too expensive!Would not the jest --Have crawled too far!25Behind Me -- dips Eternity --Before Me -- Immortality --Myself -- the Term between --Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,Dissolving into Dawn away,Before the West begin --'Tis Kingdoms -- afterward -- they say --In perfect -- pauseless Monarchy --Whose Prince -- is Son of None --Himself -- His Dateless Dynasty --Himself -- Himself diversify --In Duplicate divine --'Tis Miracle before Me -- then --'Tis Miracle behind -- between --A Crescent in the Sea --With Midnight to the North of Her --And Midnight to the South of Her --And Maelstrom -- in the Sky --26Let Us play Yesterday --I -- the Girl at school --You -- and Eternity -- theUntold Tale --Easing my famineAt my Lexicon --Logarithm -- had I -- for Drink --'Twas a dry Wine --Somewhat different -- must be --Dreams tint the Sleep --Cunning Reds of MorningMake the Blind -- leap --Still at the Egg-life --Chafing the Shell --When you troubled the Ellipse --And the Bird fell --Manacles be dim -- they say --To the new Free --Liberty -- Commoner --Never could -- to me --'Twas my last gratitudeWhen I slept -- at night --'Twas the first MiracleLet in -- with Light --Can the Lark resume the Shell --Easier -- for the Sky --Wouldn't Bonds hurt moreThan Yesterday?Wouldn't Dungeons sorer frateOn the Man -- free --Just long enough to taste --Then -- doomed new --God of the ManacleAs of the Free --Take not my LibertyAway from Me --27I died for beauty, but was scarceAdjusted in the tomb,When one who died for truth was lainIn an adjoining room.He questioned softly why I failed?"For beauty," I replied."And I for truth,--the two are one;We brethren are," he said.And so, as kinsmen met a night,We talked between the rooms.Until the moss had reached our lips,And covered up our names.28I SHALL know why, when time is over,And I have ceased to wonder why;Christ will explain each separate anguishIn the fair schoolroom of the sky.He will tell me what Peter promised,And I, for wonder at his woe,I shall forget the drop of anguishThat scalds me now, that scalds me now.29I shall keep singing!I shall keep singing!Birds will pass meOn their way to Yellower Climes --Each -- with a Robin's expectation --I -- with my Redbreast --And my Rhymes --Late -- when I take my place in summer --But -- I shall bring a fuller tune --Vespers -- are sweeter than Matins -- Signor --Morning -- only the seed of Noon --30LET down the bars, O Death!The tired flocks come inWhose bleating ceases to repeat,Whose wandering is done.Thine is the stillest night,Thine the securest fold;Too near thou art for seeking thee,Too tender to be told.31GOING to heaven!I don’t know when,Pray do not ask me how,—Indeed, I ’m too astonishedTo think of answering you!Going to heaven!—How dim it sounds!And yet it will be doneAs sure as flocks go home at nightUnto the shepherd’s arm!Perhaps you ’re going too!Who knows?If you should get there first,Save just a little place for meClose to the two I lost!The smallest “robe” will fit me,And just a bit of “crown”;For you know we do not mind our dressWhen we are going home.I ’m glad I don’t believe it,For it would stop my breath,And I ’d like to look a little moreAt such a curious earth!I am glad they did believe itWhom I have never foundSince the mighty autumn afternoonI left them in the ground.32I READ my sentence steadily,Reviewed it with my eyes,To see that I made no mistakeIn its extremest clause,—The date, and manner of the shame;And then the pious formThat “God have mercy” on the soulThe jury voted him.I made my soul familiarWith her extremity,That at the last it should not beA novel agony,But she and Death, acquainted,Meet tranquilly as friends,Salute and pass without a hintAnd there the matter ends.33THEY dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,Like petals from a rose,When suddenly across the JuneA wind with fingers goes.They perished in the seamless grass,No eye could find the place;But God on his repealless listCan summon every face.。

Emily-Dickinson作者及作品简介

《我死时听到苍蝇的嗡嗡声》
Mine – by the Right of the White Election 《我的根据白色选举的权利》
Wild Nights – Wild Nights 《狂风夜—狂风夜》
Death is a Dialogue between
《死是一场对话》 The Soul selects her own Society
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Life Experience
Some time around 1850 she began writing poetry. Her first poems were traditional and followed established form, but as time passed and she began producing huge amounts of poetry, Dickinson began experimenting. During her lifetime, she wrote about 1,800 poems.
Emily Dickinson was an American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life. As the "Belle of Amherst", she was one of the most highly-regarded
第5页，共9页。
Life Experience
In 1886, Dickinson's health began deteriorating and she found herself slowly becoming an invalid. Dickinson was only fifty-six, but she was suffering from a severe case of Bright's disease. She died on May 15, 1886, and was buried in a white coffin in Amherst. She didn’t Emily Dickinson's tombstone in the family plot marry any man throughout her lifetime.

艾米莉·狄金森诗选31首

艾米莉·狄金森诗选31首艾米莉.狄金森(Emily Dickinson)(1830～1886) 为美国隐士女诗人，生前写过一千七百多首令人耳目一新的短诗，却不为人知，死后名声大噪。

她诗风独特，以文字细腻、观察敏锐、意象突出著称。

题材方面多半是自然、死亡、和永生。

我从未看过荒原我从未看过荒原--我从未看过海洋--可我知道石楠的容貌和狂涛巨浪。

我从未与上帝交谈也不曾拜访过天堂--可我好像已通过检查一定会到那个地方。

I never saw a moorI never saw a Moor--I never saw the Sea--Yet know I how the Heather looksAnd what a Billow be.I never spoke with GodNor visited in Heaven--Yet certain am I of the spotAs if the Checks were given--云暗天低又复云暗，飞过雪花一片。

穿越车辙马圈，去留择决艰难。

谁人这样待风，令其整天抱怨。

自然犹如我等，时常没戴皇冠。

BecloudedTHE sky is low, the clouds are mean, A travelling flake of snowAcross a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go.A narrow wind complains all day How some one treated him; Nature, like us, is sometimes caught Without her diadem.我是无名之辈! 你是谁?我是无名之辈! 你是谁?你也是无名之辈吗?那么我们为一对!别说! 他们会传开去-- 你知道!多无聊-- 是-- 某某名人!多招摇-- 象个青蛙--告诉你的名字 -- 漫长的六月--给一片赞赏的沼泽!I’M Nobody! Who are you?I’M Nobody! Who are you?Are you--Nobody--too?Then there’s a pair of us!Dont tell! they’d advertise--you know! How dreary--to be--Somebody!How public--like a Frog--To tell your name--the livelong June-- To an admiring Bog!" 信念" 是个微妙的发明" 信念" 是个微妙的发明当绅士们能看见的时候--但显微镜却是谨慎的在紧急的时候。

Emily Dickonsin

Works
1800 poems, the definitive edition of her poetry were published in 1955: The Poetry of Emily Dickince on rhythmic cadences and meters from hymns and popular jingles. Her modernity is her articulation of psychological experience and skeptical desire for faith.)
On Poetry
• She thought that poetry should be powerful and touching. The inspiration of the poet came from his inner world or intensity of his emotions and the past literary traditions and the noble heroes. Like Emerson, she thought that only the real poet could understand the world. Truth, virtue and beauty are all the one thing. The most dignified beauty was embodied by the active, affirmative dignity. Poetry should express ideas through concrete images. It was the poet’s duty to express abstract ideas through vivid and fresh imagery. She was against the restriction of the traditional doctrines and argued for the depiction of one’s inner world.

Emily Dickson 诗歌

Emily DickinsonIt dont sound so terrible – quite – as it did – in I run it over –“Dead”, Brain –“Dead”.Put it in Latin – left of my school –Seems it dont shriek so – under rule.Turn it, a little – full in the faceA Trouble looks bitterest –Shift it – just –Say “When Tomorrow comes this way –I shall have waded down one Day”.I suppose it will interrupt me someTill I get accustomed – but then the Tomb Like other new Things – shows largest – then –And smaller, by Habit –It’s shrewder thenPut the Thought in advance – a Year –How like “a fit” – then –Murder – wear!What mystery pervades a well!The water lives so far –A neighbor from another world Residing in a jarWhose limit none has ever seen,But just his lid of glass –Like looking every time you pleaseIn an abyss’s face!The Grass does not appear afraid,I often wonder heCan stand so close and look so boldAt what is awe to me.Related somehow they may be,The sedge stands next the seaWhere he is floorlessAnd does no timidity betray –But nature is a stranger yet;The ones that cite her mostHave never passed her haunted house, Nor simplified her ghost.To pity those that know her notIs helped by the regretThat those who know her, know her less The nearer her they get.A Clock stopped –Not the Mantel’s –Geneva’s farthest skillCan’t put the puppet bowing –That just now dangled still –An awe came on the Trinket! The Figures hunched, with pain –Then quivered out of Decimals –Into Degreeless Noon –It will not stir for Doctors –This Pendulum of snow –This shopman importunes it –While cool – concernless No –Nods from the gilded pointers –Nods from the Seconds slim –Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life –And Him –。

emily dickinson关于生命主题的英文诗歌

emily dickinson关于生命主题的英文诗歌Emily Dickinson's Poems on the Theme of LifeOh, Emily Dickinson! Her poems about life are like little gems hidden in the vast literary treasure chest. You know, when we talk about life, it's such a big and complex thing, right? It's like a huge, ever - changing jigsaw puzzle. And Dickinson, she had this amazing way of looking at life and putting it into words.Take her poem "Because I could not stop for Death". In this poem, she personifies Death as a gentleman caller. It's as if Death is just another character in the story of life. She says, "He kindly stopped for me". Can you imagine that? Death being kind? It makes you think about death in a whole new way. It's not this scary, menacing thing all the time. It's like she's having a conversation with Death, just like you would have a chat with an old acquaintance. And through this, she's also exploring the journey of life towards its end.Another poem of hers, "I Heard a Fly Buzz - When I Died". Now, this is really something. Here, she focuses on the moment of death.A fly, of all things! It's so unexpected. It's like she's saying that inthe grand moment of life's end, it could be something as small and ordinary as a fly that catches your attention. It shows how life can be filled with the ordinary, even at the most extraordinary moments.Dickinson also wrote about the vitality and mystery of life. In some of her works, she compares life to a wild, untamed force. It's like a storm that can be both beautiful and terrifying. She makes you feel the power of life, the way it can sweep you up and carry you along. For example, when she describes the energy of nature, it's as if nature is a living, breathing entity that is a part of life itself.I think Dickinson's poems on life are not just words on a page. They're like a mirror that reflects different aspects of life. They make us question our own understanding of life. Are we really living it to the fullest? Are we aware of all the little details and the big, overarching themes? Her poems are like a friend whispering in your ear, asking you these deep questions.In conclusion, Emily Dickinson's poems on the theme of life are truly remarkable. They offer a unique perspective on life that makes us think, feel, and question. They are a testament to herdeep understanding of the complex and beautiful thing that is life.。

艾米莉-狄更斯

艾米莉·狄金森诗歌精选(一)艾米莉·狄金森(Emily Dickinson)(1830～1886) ，为美国隐士女诗人，生前写过一千七百多首令人耳目一新的短诗，却不为人知，死后名声大噪。

她诗风独特，以文字细腻、观察敏锐、意象突出著称。

题材方面多半是自然、死亡、和永生。

艾米莉·狄金森(1830-1892)生前默默无闻，只公开发表10首诗，还有一说是7首，不管怎样，她生前发表的不到她诗作的(现存她诗作1775篇)百分之一。

然而现在她被推崇为与惠特曼齐名的美国一流诗人，并且被20世纪美国意象派诗人视为先驱，开创了20世纪现代主义诗歌的先河。

布鲁姆在《西方正典》中这样评价狄金森在文学史上的地位：“除了莎士比亚，狄金森是但丁以来西方诗人中显示了最多认知原创性的作家。

”在纽约圣约翰教堂的诗人角，美国人献给狄金森的铭文是：“啊，杰出的艾米莉·狄金森!”即使在日常生活中，她也是默默无闻的。

她25岁开始便弃绝社交，足不出户，家务劳动之余埋头写诗。

30岁之后，这种倾向越来越严重，患了“自闭症”。

她喜欢穿白色的衣服，她不愿接待大多数来访的客人，甚至不到隔壁的哥哥家去拜访，她被称为“艾默斯特修女”。

以至于当希金森来访，她不知道说什么，话语断断续续，像孩子一样。

她是一个十足的家庭妇女，她是父亲的面包师，是她缠绵病榻母亲的护士。

有诗为证，她写道：“如果你能在秋季来到，／我会用掸子把夏天掸掉／一半轻蔑，一半含笑，／像管家妇把苍蝇赶跑。

”(江枫译，下同)这个比喻显然来自她平日的家庭劳动。

据其他文章介绍，她当时只不过是镇上一名没有任何名气的独身女子。

一封寄给“狄金森小姐”的信要辗转送到几个狄金森小姐之手，发现都不是写给她们的之后，邮政局长才让人把信交给艾米莉，并且嘱咐说如果不是写给她的，请立即退还。

她甚至写诗《我是无名之辈，你是谁》，在他们中间寻求知音。

1862年，她32岁(这一年也是她创作欲最旺盛的一年，她写了366首诗)，艾米莉从《大西洋月刊》杂志上读到希金森(1823-1911)的一篇文章，在文中他阐明：“发掘天才是编辑的天职”等观点，并教导青年作家“将生命的热情注入写作风格……让多年的热情溶入一个词汇中，把半辈子的生活积蓄写在一个句子里。

与爱人离世有关的英文诗

与爱人离世有关的英文诗以下是一些与爱人离世有关的英文诗的例子。

1. "Because I could not stop for Death" by Emi ly Dickinson.Because 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 provided all the time.Since then 'tis Centuries; and yet.Feels shorter than the day I first surmised.2. "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas.Do not go gentle into that good night.Old age should burn and rage at close of day.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.3. "Crossing the Bar" by Alfred, Lord TennysonCrossing the Bar.By Alfred, Lord Tennyson.Sunset and evening star.And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the bar.No wailing, nor gnashing of teeth!4. "She is gone" by Edgar Guest.She is gone.The light of my life, the joy of my heart.She who was my everything on earth is depart ed.5. "A Death in the Family" by John Updike.A Death in the Family.By John Updike.The days go by and the years go by.The leaves fall and the flowers bloom.The river flows and the wind blows.But my loved one is no more.这些诗歌都以不同的方式表达了失去爱人的痛苦和悲伤，希望对你有帮助。

emily dickinson生命主题的诗歌

emily dickinson生命主题的诗歌哇塞，Emily Dickinson 的诗歌啊，那可真是太独特、太有魅力啦！
她的诗就像是一个个神秘的小盒子，你永远不知道打开后会发现什么奇妙的东西。

比如说那首，哎呀呀，那简直就是对生命和死亡的一次奇妙探索！就好像我们在人生的道路上走着走着，突然死神就冒出来了，说要带我们去另一段旅程。

还有，这诗就像是在告诉我们，生命中对美的追求是多么重要呀！这不就跟我们追求自己喜欢的东西一样嘛，为了它可以不顾一切。

Emily Dickinson 用她那简洁而又深刻的语言，把生命中的各种情感和思考都表达得淋漓尽致。

这就好比她是一个超级厉害的画家，用她的诗句当作画笔，在我们的心里画出了一幅幅让人难以忘怀的画面。

她诗歌里的生命主题，有时让你感到温暖，有时又让你觉得有些忧伤。

这不就跟我们的生活一样嘛，有开心的时候，也有难过的时候。

“希望是个有羽毛的东西”，这句话多形象啊，让我们对希望充满了想象。

我觉得 Emily Dickinson 的诗歌就像是一杯陈酿的美酒，越品越有味道。

她让我们对生命有了更深的思考，让我们更加珍惜我们所拥有的一切。

她的诗就是那个能触动我们内心最柔软地方的神奇存在呀！
总之，Emily Dickinson 的生命主题诗歌真的是太精彩啦！值得我们反复去品味，去感受其中的魅力！。

迪金森

Because I Could Not Stop for DeathBy Emily DickinsonBecause 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 hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For his Civility2 —We passed the school, where children strove At Recess3 — in the Ring4 —We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain —We passed the Setting Sun —Or rather — He5 passed Us —The Dews drew quivering and chill —For only Gossamer my Gown —My Tippet — only Tulle6 —We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling7 of the Ground —The Roof was scarcely visible —The Cornice8 — in the Ground —Since then —’tis9 centuries — and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses’ headsWere toward Eternity —注释1. 此诗大约写于1863年，发表于1890年, 编号第712首。

它以死亡为题材，行文极其洒脱，反映了迪金森视死如归的人生态度。

(完整word版)EmilyDickinson关于死亡的诗歌汇总

1）Because I could not stop for Death Because 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 hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility—We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess—in the RingWe passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—We passed the Setting Sun—Or rather—He passed Us—The Dews drew quivering and chill—For only Gossamer, my Gown—My Tippet—only Tulle—We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling of the Ground—The Roof was scarcely visible—The Cornice—in the Ground—Since then—'tis Centuries—and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses' HeadsWere toward Eternity—2) I felt a funeral in my brainI felt a funeral in my brain,And mourners to and fro,Kept treading, treading, till it seemedThat sense was breaking through.And when they all were seated,A service like a drumKept beating, beating, till I thoughtMy mind was going numb.And then I heard them lift a boxAnd creak across my soulWith those same boots of lead again,Then space began to tollAs all the heavens were a bell,And being but an ear,And I and silence some strange race,Wrecked solitary here.And then a plank in reason broke,And I dropped down and downAnd hit a world at every plunge,And finished knowing, then.7) There's been a death in the opposite houseThere's been a death in the opposite houseAs lately as today.I know it by the numb lookSuch houses have alway.The neighbors rustle in and out,The doctor drives away.A window opens like a pod,Abrupt, mechanically;Somebody flings a mattress out, -The children hurry by;They wonder if It died on that, -I used to when a boy.The minister goes stiffly inAs if the house were his,And he owned all the mourners now,And little boys besides;And then the milliner, and the manOf the appalling trade,To take the measure of the house.There'll be that dark paradeOf tassels and of coaches soon;It's easy as a sign, - The intuition of the news In just a country town.。