全英文文章

教育 的进步是在改变的基础上实现的,改变的第一步就是摒弃墨守成规的教学思维,英语作为国际沟通交流的语言工具,其在全球化进程中扮演着重要的角色。下面是我带来的经典英语 文章 阅读，欢迎阅读!经典英语文章阅读篇一 十二月的玫瑰 Roses in December Coaches more times than not use their hearts instead of their heads to make tough decisions. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case when I realized we had a baseball conference game scheduled when our seniors would be in Washington, D.C. for the annual senior field trip. We were a team dominated by seniors, and for the first time in many years, we were in the conference race for first place. I knew we couldn’t win without our seniors, so I called the rival coach and asked to reschedule the game when everyone was available to play. “No way,” he replied. The seniors were crushed and offered to skip the much-awaited traditional trip. I assured them they needed to go on the trip as part of their educational experience, though I really wanted to accept their offer and win and go on to the conference championship. But I did not, and on that fateful Tuesday, I wished they were there to play. I had nine underclass players eager and excited that they finally had a chance to play. The most excited player was a young mentally challenged boy we will call Billy. Billy was, I believe, overage, but because he loved sports so much, an understanding principal had given him permission to be on the football and baseball teams. Billy lived and breathed sports and now he would finally get his chance to play. I think his happiness captured the imagination of the eight other substitute players. Billy was very small in size, but he had a big heart and had earned the respect of his teammates with his effort and enthusiasm. He was a left-handed hitter and had good baseball skills. His favorite pastime, except for the time he practiced sports, was to sit with the men at a local rural store talking about sports. On this day, I began to feel that a loss might even be worth Billy’s chance to play. Our opponents jumped off to a four-run lead early in the game, just as expected. Somehow we came back to within one run, and that was the situation when we went to bat in the bottom of the ninth. I was pleased with our team’s effort and the constant grin on Billy’s face. If only we could win..., I thought, but that’s asking too much. If we lose by one run, it will be a victory in itself. The weakest part of our lineup was scheduled to hit, and the opposing coach put his ace pitcher in to seal the victory. To our surprise, with two outs, a batter walked, and the tying run was on first base. Our next hitter was Billy. The crowd cheered as if this were the final inning of the conference championship, and Billy waved jubilantly. I knew he would be unable to hit this pitcher, but what a day it had been for all of us. Strike one. Strike two. A fastball. Billy hit it down the middle over the right fielder’s head for a triple to tie the score. Billy was beside himself, and the crowd went wild. Ben, our next hitter, however, hadn’t hit the ball even once in batting practice or intrasquad games. I knew there was absolutely no way for the impossible dream to continue. Besides, our opponents had the top of their lineup if we went into overtime. It was a crazy situation and one that needed reckless strategy. I called a time-out, and everyone seemed confused when I walked to third base and whispered something to Billy. As expected, Ben swung on the first two pitches, not coming close to either. When the catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher Billy broke from third base sprinting as hard as he could. The pitcher didn’t see him break, and when he did he whirled around wildly and fired the ball home. Billy dove in head first, beat the throw, and scored the winning run. This was not the World Series, but don’t tell that to anyone present that day. Tears were shed as Billy, the hero, was lifted on the shoulders of all eight team members. If you go through town today, forty-two years later, you’ll likely see Billy at that same country store relating to an admiring group the story of the day he won the game that no one expected to win. Of all the spectacular events in my sports career, this memory is the highlight. It exemplified what sports can do for people, and Billy’s great day proved that to everyone who saw the game. J. M. Barrie, the playwright, may have said it best when he wrote, “God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December.” Billy gave all of us a rose garden. 经典英语文章阅读篇二 Big Red The first time we set eyes on "Big Red," father, mother and I were trudging through the freshly fallen snow on our way to Hubble's Hardware store on Main Street in Huntsville, Ontario. We planned to enter our name in the annual Christmas drawing for a chance to win a hamper filled with fancy tinned cookies, tea, fruit and candy. As we passed the Eaton's department store's window, we stopped as usual to gaze and do a bit of dreaming. The gaily decorated window display held the best toys ever. I took an instant hankering for a huge green wagon. It was big enough to haul three armloads of firewood, two buckets of swill or a whole summer's worth of pop bottles picked from along the highway. There were skates that would make Millar's Pond well worth shovelling and dolls much too pretty to play with. And they were all nestled snugly beneath the breathtakingly flounced skirt of Big Red. Mother's eyes were glued to the massive flare of red shimmering satin, dotted with twinkling sequin-centred black velvet stars. "My goodness," she managed to say in trancelike wonder. "Would you just look at that dress!" Then, totally out of character, mother twirled one spin of a waltz on the slippery sidewalk. Beneath the heavy, wooden-buttoned, grey wool coat she had worn every winter for as long as I could remember, mother lost her balance and tumbled. Father quickly caught her. Her cheeks redder than usual, mother swatted dad for laughing. "Oh, stop that!" she ordered, shooing his fluttering hands as he swept the snow from her coat. "What a silly dress to be perched up there in the window of Eaton's!" She shook her head in disgust. "Who on earth would want such a splashy dress?" As we continued down the street, mother turned back for one more look. "My goodness! You'd think they'd display something a person could use!" Christmas was nearing, and the red dress was soon forgotten. Mother, of all people, was not one to wish for, or spend money on, items that were not practical. "There are things we need more than this," she'd always say, or, "There are things we need more than that." Father, on the other hand, liked to indulge whenever the budget allowed. Of course, he'd get a scolding for his occasional splurging, but it was all done with the best intention. Like the time he brought home the electric range. In our old Muskoka farmhouse on Oxtongue Lake, Mother was still cooking year-round on a wood stove. In the summer, the kitchen would be so hot even the houseflies wouldn't come inside. Yet, there would be Mother – roasting - right along with the pork and turnips. One day, Dad surprised her with a fancy new electric range. She protested, of course, saying that the wood stove cooked just dandy, that the electric stove was too dear and that it would cost too much hydro to run it. All the while, however, she was polishing its already shiny chrome knobs. In spite of her objections, Dad and I knew that she cherished that new stove. There were many other modern things that old farm needed, like indoor plumbing and a clothes dryer, but Mom insisted that those things would have to wait until we could afford them. Mom was forever doing chores - washing laundry by hand, tending the pigs and working in our huge garden - so she always wore mended, cotton-print housedresses and an apron to protect the front. She did have one or two "special" dresses saved for church on Sundays. And with everything else she did, she still managed to make almost all of our clothes. They weren't fancy, but they did wear well. That Christmas I bought Dad a handful of fishing lures from the Five to a Dollar store, and wrapped them individually in matchboxes so he'd have plenty of gifts to open from me. Choosing something for Mother was much harder. When Dad and I asked, she thought carefully then hinted modestly for some tea towels, face cloths or a new dishpan. On our last trip to town before Christmas, we were driving up Main Street when Mother suddenly exclaimed in surprise: "Would you just look at that!" She pointed excitedly as Dad drove past Eaton's. "That big red dress is gone," she said in disbelief. "It's actually gone." "Well . . . I'll be!" Dad chuckled. "By golly, it is!" "Who'd be fool enough to buy such a frivolous dress?" Mother questioned, shaking her head. I quickly stole a glance at Dad. His blue eyes were twinkling as he nudged me with his elbow. Mother craned her neck for another glimpse out the rear window as we rode on up the street. "It's gone . . ." she whispered. I was almost certain that I detected a trace of yearning in her voice. I'll never forget that Christmas morning. I watched as Mother peeled the tissue paper off a large box that read "Eaton's Finest Enamel Dishpan" on its lid. "Oh Frank," she praised, "just what I wanted!" Dad was sitting in his rocker, a huge grin on his face. "Only a fool wouldn't give a priceless wife like mine exactly what she wants for Christmas," he laughed. "Go ahead, open it up and make sure there are no chips." Dad winked at me, confirming his secret, and my heart filled with more love for my father than I thought it could hold! Mother opened the box to find a big white enamel dishpan - overflowing with crimson satin that spilled out across her lap. With trembling hands she touched the elegant material of Big Red. "Oh my goodness!" she managed to utter, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh Frank . . ." Her face was as bright as the star that twinkled on our tree in the corner of the small room. "You shouldn't have . . ." came her faint attempt at scolding. "Oh now, never mind that!" Dad said. "Let's see if it fits," he laughed, helping her slip the marvellous dress over her shoulders. As the shimmering red satin fell around her, it gracefully hid the patched and faded floral housedress underneath. I watched, my mouth agape, captivated by a radiance in my parents I had never noticed before. As they waltzed around the room, Big Red swirled its magic deep into my heart. "You look beautiful," my dad whispered to my mom - and she surely did! 经典英语文章阅读篇三 你才是我的幸福 She was dancing. My crippled grandmother was dancing. I stood in the living room doorway absolutely stunned. I glanced at the kitchen table and sure enough-right under a small, framed drawing on the wall-was a freshly baked peach pie. I heard her sing when I opened the door but did not want to interrupt the beautiful song by yelling I had arrived, so I just tiptoed to the living room. I looked at how her still-lean body bent beautifully, her arms greeting the sunlight that was pouring through the window. And her legs... Those legs that had stiffly walked, aided with a cane, insensible shoes as long as I could remember. Now she was wearing beautiful dancing shoes and her legs obeyed her perfectly. No limping. No stiffness. Just beautiful, fluid motion. She was the pet of the dancing world. And then she’d had her accident and it was all over. I had read that in an old newspaper clipping. She turned around in a slow pirouette and saw me standing in the doorway. Her song ended, and her beautiful movements with it, so abruptly that it felt like being shaken awake from a beautiful dream. The sudden silence rang in my ears. Grandma looked so much like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar that I couldn’t help myself, and a slightly nervous laughter escaped. Grandma sighed and turned towards the kitchen. I followed her, not believing my eyes. She was walking with no difficulties in her beautiful shoes. We sat down by the table and cut ourselves big pieces of her delicious peach pie. "So...” I blurted, “How did your leg heal?" "To tell you the truth—my legs have been well all my life," she said. "But I don’t understand!" I said, "Your dancing career... I mean... You pretended all these years? "Very much so," Grandmother closed her eyes and savored the peach pie, "And for a very good reason." "What reason?" "Your grandfather." "You mean he told you not to dance?" "No, this was my choice. I am sure I would have lost him if I had continued dancing. I weighed fame and love against each other and love won." She thought for a while and then continued. “We were talking about engagement when your grandfather had to go to war. It was the most horrible day of my life when he left. I was so afraid of losing him, the only way I could stay sane was to dance. I put all my energy and time into practicing—and I became very good. Critics praised me, the public loved me, but all I could feel was the ache in my heart, not knowing whether the love of my life would ever return. Then I went home and read and re-read his letters until I fell asleep. He always ended his letters with ‘You are my Joy. I love you with my life’ and after that he wrote his name. And then one day a letter came. There were only three sentences: ‘I have lost my leg. I am no longer a whole man and now give you back your freedom. It is best you forget about me.’” "I made my decision there and then. I took my leave, and traveled away from the city. When I returned I had bought myself a cane and wrapped my leg tightly with bandages. I told everyone I had been in a car crash and that my leg would never completely heal again. My dancing days were over. No one suspected the story—I had learned to limp convincingly before I returned home. And I made sure the first person to hear of my accident was a reporter I knew well. Then I traveled to the hospital. They had pushed your grandfather outside in his wheelchair. There was a cane on the ground by his wheelchair. I took a deep breath, leaned on my cane and limped to him. " By now I had forgotten about the pie and listened to grandma, mesmerized. “What happened then?” I hurried her when she took her time eating some pie. "I told him he was not the only one who had lost a leg, even if mine was still attached to me. I showed him newspaper clippings of my accident. ‘So if you think I’m going to let you feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life, think again. There is a whole life waiting for us out there! I don’t intend to be sorry for myself. But I have enough on my plate as it is, so you’d better snap out of it too. And I am not going to carry you-you are going to walk yourself.’" Grandma giggled, a surprisingly girlish sound coming from an old lady with white hair. "I limped a few steps toward him and showed him what I’d taken out of my pocket. ‘Now show me you are still a man,’ I said, ‘I won’t ask again.’ He bent to take his cane from the ground and struggled out of that wheelchair. I could see he had not done it before, because he almost fell on his face, having only one leg. But I was not going to help. And so he managed it on his own and walked to me and never sat in a wheelchair again in his life." "What did you show him?" I had to know. Grandma looked at me and grinned. "Two engagement rings, of course. I had bought them the day after he left for the war and I was not going to waste them on any other man." I looked at the drawing on the kitchen wall, sketched by my grandfather’s hand so many years before. The picture became distorted as tears filled my eyes. “You are my Joy. I love you with my life.” I murmured quietly. The young woman in the drawing sat on her park bench and with twinkling eyes smiled broadly at me, an engagement ring carefully drawn on her finger. 看了“经典英语文章阅读”的人还看了： 1. 经典美文阅读:生命在于完整 2. 英语经典美文阅读:品味现在 3. 经典美文佳作英汉阅读 4. 励志经典英语美文阅读 5. 一生必读的英文经典美文

唯美主义是西方十九世纪后期出现的一种文艺思潮,一直以来也都是人们关注的话题。下面是我带来的唯美经典英文 文章 ，欢迎阅读!

唯美经典英文文章1

Of Study论读书

-By Francis Bacon弗兰西斯·培根

书籍是喂养人类灵魂的粮食，人不吃饭会饿死，那么人的精神缺乏适当的喂养也会饥饿，我想在现代这个速食的社会所缺乏的就是精神食粮的喂养。不断阅读，这样我们才不至于越来越肤浅。

Studies serve for delight, for ornament and for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment, and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best, from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar.

读书足以怡情，足以傅彩，足以长才。其怡情也，最见于独处幽居之时;其傅彩也，最见于高谈阔论之中;其长才也，最见于处世判事之际。练达之士虽能分别处理细事或一一判别枝节，然纵观统筹、全局策划，则舍好学深思者莫属。读书费时过多易惰，文采藻饰太盛则矫，全凭条文断事乃学究故态。

They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; and studies themselves, do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation Read not to contradict and confute nor to believe and take for granted.

读书补天然之不足， 经验 又补读书之不足，盖天生才干犹如自然花草，读书然后知如何修剪移接;而书中所示，如不以经验范之，则又大而无当。有一技之长者鄙读书，无知者羡读书，唯明智之士用读书，然书并不以用处告人，用书之智不在书中，而在书外，全凭观察得之。读书时不可存心诘难作者，不可尽信书上所言，亦不可只为寻章摘句，而应推敲细思。

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them bothers; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books, else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things.

书有可浅尝者，有可吞食者，少数则须咀嚼消化。换言之，有只需读其部分者，有只需大体涉猎者，少数则须全读，读时须全神贯注，孜孜不倦。书亦可请人代读，取其所作摘要，但只限题材较次或价值不高者，否则书经提炼犹如水经蒸馏、淡而无味矣。

唯美经典英文文章2

First Snow初雪

初雪来临的时候，有人在漫天飞舞的雪花中欢呼雀跃，恨不能随之飞舞;也有孩童迫不及待地冲出家门，想用初雪堆砌冬天第一个雪人;也有人望着落于手心，慢慢融化的雪花，神情恬淡而飘缈;亲爱的，你是怎样迎接每一场初雪的?

This morning, when I first caught sight of the unfamiliar whitened world, I could not help wishing that we had snow oftener, that English winters were more wintry.

今天早上，当我第一次看见这个陌生的银白色的世界时，我不禁衷心希望这里能够多下几场雪，这样我们英国的冬天才能更增添几分冬天的味道。

How delightful it would be, I thought, to have months of clean snow and a landscape sparkling with frost instead of innumerable grey featureless days of rain and raw winds.

我想，如果我们这里经常是个冰雪积月、霜华璀璨的景象，而不是像现在这种苦雨凄风永无尽期的阴沉而乏特色的日子，那该多么令人喜悦啊!

I began to envy my friends in such places as the Eastern States of America and Canada, who can count upon a solid winter every year and know that the snow will arrive by a certain date and will remain, without degenerating into black slush, until Spring is close at hand. To have snow and frost and yet a clear sunny sky and air as crisp as a biscuit - this seemed to me happiness indeed.

于是我羡慕起那些居住在美国东部各州和加拿大的我的友人们，他们那里年年都能出现一个像样的冬天，都能说得出降雪的确切日期，并能保证，直至大地春回之前，那里的雪绝无退化为黑色泥浆的可能。既有霜雪，又有晴朗温煦的天空，而且空气又非常凉爽清新——这在我看来实在是很大的快乐。

And then I saw that it would never do for us. We should be sick of it in a week. After the first day the magic would be gone and there would be nothing left but the unchanging glare of the day and the bitter cruel nights.

但马上我又觉得这样还是不行。不出一周人们就会对它感到厌烦。第一天后魔力便会消失，剩下的唯有白昼那种永无变化的耀眼阳光与刺骨严寒和凄冷的夜晚。

It is not the snow itself,the sight of the blanketed world, that is so enchanting, but the first coming of the snow, the sudden and silent change.Out of the relations, for ever shifting and unanticipated,of wind and water comes a magical event.

让人如此着迷的不是雪的本身，不在这个银装素裹的景象，而是初雪降临时，那突然而宁静的变化。正是从风风雨雨这类变幻无常和难以预期的关系之中才会出现这种以降雪为奇迹的情形。

Who would change this state of things for a steadily recurring round,an earth governed by the calendar? It has been well said that while other countries have a climate, we alone in England have weather. There is nothing duller than climate,which can be converted into a topic only by scientists and hypochondriacs.

谁又肯拿眼前这般景致去换上个永远周而复始的单调局面，一个全由年历来控制的大地?有一句话说的好，别的国家都有气候，唯有英国才有天气。气候是最为枯燥和乏味的，或许只有科学家与疑难杂症患者才会把它当做话题。

But weather is our earth's Cleopatra, and it is not to be wondered at that we, who must share her gigantic moods, should be for ever talking about her. Once we were settled in America, Siberia, Australia, where there is nothing but a steady pact between climate and the calendar,we should regret her very naughtinesses, her willful pranks,her gusts of rage, and sudden tears.

但是天气却是我们这块土地上的克里奥佩特拉，因而毫不奇怪，人们为它巨大情绪变化所左右，总不免要对她窃窃私议。假如一旦我们定居于美洲、西伯利亚与澳大利亚，在那里气候与年历之间早已有成约在先，我们即使仅仅因为失去她的调皮，她任性的恶作剧，她的狂忿盛怒与涕泣涟涟也会深感遗憾。

唯美经典英文文章3

Summer Afternoon夏日午后

夏日的午后，太阳毫不吝惜的挥洒着热度。炎炎夏日，挥汗如雨，大汗淋漓之后却有着莫名的酣畅淋漓。夏日，就这么真诚的张扬着自己独特的个性，挥洒着灼人的热情。

Summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words. Summer is the glorious time of the year when most of us can put on our shorts and short-sleeved shirts and actually feel the air and sunlight on our skin; when we don't have to turn up the heat in the morning when we get up; but also when we lay hot and sweaty in bed, unable to sleep at times (those of us who don't have air conditioning, anyway); when we get the sunburn and the heatstroke and all those wonderful things.

夏日的下午;对我来说，这几个字一直是英语语言中最美丽的两个字。浪漫夏季，这是一年中最灿烂的季节，我们可以穿上短裤，短袖，尽情地感受着夏日的空气以及撒在皮肤上的阳光;我们不必要在清晨起床后就去打开暖气;当然我们也会满身是汗，燥热地躺在床上，而无法入眠(那些没有空调设施的人们);有了一身夏日晒斑，中暑，这一切都是我们经历着夏日的美妙事情。

All green and fair the summer lies, just budded from the bud of spring, with tender blue of wistful skies, and winds that softly sing. How beautiful the summer night is, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded day,descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight,which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday!

夏日展现出一片翠绿、美丽的图画，就像春天的蓓蕾刚刚萌芽，湛蓝的令人向往的天空，还有那轻声吟唱的微风。夏日的夜晚也是美丽的，与其称它为夜晚，它其实更像一个阳光照射不到的，晴朗的白昼，它携带清露，阴凉以及一丝丝清爽降落到了地球!这漫长柔和的夏日黎明也是如此美丽，它就像一个银扣，将今天与昨天紧紧地联系在一起!

Summer is a sailor in a rowboat and ice-cream on your dress when you're four years old. Summer is a man with his coat off, wet sand between your toes, the smell of a garden an hour before moonrise. Summer is silk itself, a giant geranium and music from a flute far away!

夏日是一叶小舟上的船夫，是你四岁时不小心沾在裙脚上的冰淇淋;夏日是赤裸着上身的男人，是浸入你脚趾间的湿漉漉的沙子;夏日还是朝阳初升前一小时的那花园里的清香味。夏日就是那丝绸锦缎，那盛开的天竺葵，以及从远方飘来的悠悠长笛声!

No matter how we see it, summer has a magic that we can't deny - all four seasons do.

不管我们如何看待它，夏季总有着那么一种我们无法否认的魔力——每个季节独有的魔力。