英文短篇文章 Part 2
可萊覺得如果想要訓練自己的英文閱讀，一開始可以先挑短文來培養耐心，以及提升單字和文法的辨識能力，之後再慢慢加長文章的長度；如果一開始就去看像哈裡波特那種大長篇，假如不是很有耐心，真的很容易打擊英文學習的心情阿....(被自己老爹強迫看的苦情人路過~~~~
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1) A Tribute to the Dog 狗之頌詞
The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy.His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful.Those who are nearest and dearest to us,those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name,may become traitors to their faith.The money that a man has he may lose.It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most.A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action.The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with usmay be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world,the one that never deserts him,the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness.He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely,if only he may be near his master’s side.He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer;he will lick the wounds and sores that come from encounter with the roughness of the world.He will guard the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince.When all other friends desert, he remains.When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces,he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journeys through the heavens.If fortune drives the master forth, an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless,the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him,to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies.And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace,and his body is laid away in the cold ground,no matter if all other friends pursue their way,there by the grave will the noble dog be found,his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness,faithful and true even in death.
2) Rush 奔逝
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return;willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening;peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again.Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be?Where could he hide them?If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?I don’t know how many days I have been given to spend,but I do feel my hands are getting empty.Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me.Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean,my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless.Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming;yet in between, how fast is the shift, in such a rush?When I get up in the morning,the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs.The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively;and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution.Thus — the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands,wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal,and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as reflect in silence.I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back,but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands.In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way.The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone.I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh.But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape?Nothing but to hesitate, to rush.What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating?Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind,or evaporated as mist by the morning sun.What traces have I left behind me?Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all?I have come to the world, stark naked;am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness?It is not fair though:why should I have made such a trip for nothing!You the wise, tell me,why should our days leave us, never to return?
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