英国文学第四讲雪莱的西风颂.pptVIP

Ode to the West Wind Percy B. Shelley I O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumns being— Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes！—O thou Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion oer the dreaming earth, and fill （Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air） With living hues and odours plain and hill— Wild Sp