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《新概念四册》 07年2月班 半期补充资料

下面是《新概念四册》的半期补充资料，都是精妙无比的美文，希望朋友们认真阅读感悟哈，对英语的提高绝对有帮助！
其他喜欢英语的朋友们也不妨参考参考！

1. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud<我象一朵云，孤独地飘荡>

William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud//That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,//A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,// Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine,//And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line,//Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,// Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they//Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,//In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie//In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye// Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,// And dances with the daffodils.

2．Death, Be Not Proud! By John Donne（死神，你不要得意！ 约翰。多恩）

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee /
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,/
For, those, whom thou think, you do overthrow,/
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. /
From rest and sleep, which but your pictures be,/
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, /
And soonest our best men with you do go, /
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery./
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,/
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, /
10 And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well, /
And better then thy stroke; why swell you then; /
One short sleep past, wee wake eternally, /
And death shall be no more; death, thou shall die.

（注：thee是you的宾格；thou是you 的主格；art=are）

3. Lady Chatterley’s Lover，by D.H. Lawrence《查泰莱夫人的情人》，劳伦斯）

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.

This was more or less Constance Chatterley's position. The war had brought the roof down over her head. And she had realized that one must live and learn. //She married Clifford Chatterley in 1917, when he was home for a month on leave. They had a month's honeymoon. Then he went back to Flanders: to be shipped over to England again six months later, more or less in bits. Constance, his wife, was then twenty-three years old, and he was twenty-nine. //His hold on life was marvelous. He didn't die, and the bits seemed to grow together again.

4. A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens（《双城记》， 查尔斯。狄更斯）

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil,---- in the superlative degree of comparison only.

5．Daisy Miller, by Henry James（《戴西。米勒》， 亨利。詹姆斯）

At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the entertainment of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will remember, is seated upon the edge of a remarkably blue lake--a lake that it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an unbroken array of establishments of this order, of every category, from the "grand hotel" of the newest fashion, with a chalk-white front, a hundred balconies, and a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little Swiss pension of an elder day, with its name inscribed in German-looking lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and an awkward summerhouse in the angle of the garden. One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous, even classical, being distinguished from many of its upstart neighbors by an air both of luxury and of maturity. In this region, in the month of June, American travelers are extremely numerous; it may be said, indeed, that Vevey assumes at this period some of the characteristics of an American watering place. There are sights and sounds which evoke a vision, an echo, of Newport and Saratoga. There is a flitting hither and thither of "stylish" young girls, a rustling of muslin flounces, a rattle of dance music in the morning hours, a sound of high-pitched voices at all times. You receive an impression of these things at the excellent inn of the "Trois Couronnes" and are transported in fancy to the Ocean House or to Congress Hall. But at the "Trois Couronnes," it must be added, there are other features that are much at variance with these suggestions: neat German waiters, who look like secretaries of legation; Russian princesses sitting in the garden; little Polish boys walking about held by the hand, with their governors; a view of the sunny crest of the Dent du Midi and the picturesque towers of the Castle of Chillon.

I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differences that were uppermost in the mind of a young American, who, two or three years ago, sat in the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about him, rather idly, at some of the graceful objects I have mentioned. It was a beautiful summer morning, and in whatever fashion the young American looked at things, they must have seemed to him charming. He had come from Geneva the day before by the little steamer, to see his aunt, who was staying at the hotel--Geneva having been for a long time his place of residence. But his aunt had a headache-- his aunt had almost always a headache--and now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that he was at liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-twenty years of age; when his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at Geneva "studying." When his enemies spoke of him, they said--but, after all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so much time at Geneva was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who lived there--a foreign lady--a person older than himself.

6. Nature, by R. W. Emerson（《自然》， 爱默生）

Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchers of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not we have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by revelation to us and not the history of theirs? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us and invite us by the powers they supply to action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among dry bones of the past or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun shines today also. There is more wool and flex in their fields. There are new lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own laws and worship.
Undoubtedly we have no questions to ask which are unanswerable. We must trust the perfection of the creation so far, as to believe that whatever curiosity the order of things has awakened in our minds, the order of things can satisfy. Every man's condition is a solution in hieroglyphic to those inquiries he would put. He acts it as life, before he apprehends it as truth. In like manner, nature is already, in its forms and tendencies, describing its own design. Let us interrogate the great apparition that shines so peacefully around us. Let us inquire, to what end is nature?