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| 編輯推薦： |
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本书既是英语学习爱好者、文学爱好者的必备读物，也是忙碌现代人的一片憩息心灵的家园，让读者在欣赏原法原味和凝练生动的英文时，还能多角度、深层次地品读语言特色与艺术之美，丰富的配图，更有助于读者轻松地欣赏并理解英文，让英语学习变得轻松有趣，在阅读中潜移默化地学习。
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| 內容簡介： |
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“每天读点好英文”系列为中英双语对照读物，优美的语言、深厚的情感、地道的英文，让读者既能欣赏到原汁原味、凝练生动的英文，又能深层次地品读其语言特色与艺术之美，是英语学习爱好者和文学爱好者的必备读物。《你可曾向往诗和远方》选取百余首名诗佳作，每一首诗都极具韵律之美，让人在学习英文之余，陶冶隐藏在字里行间的审美情趣。
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| 關於作者： |
暖小昕：留美博士，一个热爱教育的行动派白羊女
回国后长期致力于英文阅读的辅导和英文作品的翻译
希望能将英文定义为时尚的符号，让更多的年轻人爱上英文，活用英文
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| 目錄：
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生命的加油站 Chapter One
两条道路 The
Two Roads 002
快乐吧！ Be Happy! 010
爱是艰难的 Love
Is Difficult 016
人类的故事 The
Human Story 020
人的指导者 Man’s
Guide 025
美腿与丑腿 The
Handsome and Deformed Leg 030
论人间荣誉之虚渺 On the
Instability of Human Glory 038
一个完全相反的地方 A
Thoroughly Negative Place 042
风车 The
Windmill
047
我生命中最重要的一天 The
Most Important Day in My Life 054
书友 Companionship
of Books
063
被遗忘的时光 Chapter Two
童年与诗 Childhood and Poetry 070
梦中儿女 Dream Children 077
人的青春 Man’s Youth 089
年轻与年老 Youth and Age 095
热爱生活 Love Your Life 100
阳光下的时光 Hours in the Sun 105
初 雪 First
Snow 110
真实的高贵 True Nobility 120
内卡河上木筏行 Rafting
Down the Neckar 125
月亮升起来 Spell
of the Rising Moon 138
人生最好的奖励 Chapter Three
适合的才是最好的 Suit Is Best 148
童 年 Childhood 153
艰辛的人生 The Strenuous Life 162
勇 气 Courage 167
微尘与栋梁 On Motes and Beams 172
我爱人人，人人爱我 To Love and to Be Loved 177
写作的乐趣 The
Joys of Writing 182
黄金国 El Dorado 194
读书的乐趣 The Pleasure of Reading 204
孤 独 Solitude 209
让心灵去旅行 Chapter Four
马可·波罗游记 The Travels of Marco Polo 222
一棵树的启示 The Lesson of a Tree 227
一撮黏土 A Handful of Clay 232
论出游 On Going a Journey 242
林湖重游 Once More to the Lake 260
徒步旅行 Walking
Tours 277
我的人生已逝 My
Life Is Over 288
送 行 Seeing
People off 293
冬日漫步 A Winter Walk 309
郁金香 Tulips 321
自 然 Nature 333
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| 內容試閱：
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风 车
The Windmill
爱德华·凡尔拉莱·卢卡斯
Edward Verrall Lucas
不久前，一个偶然的机会曾使我成为一座风车房的住客。但并不是真的住进去，而且说来遗憾，也不是进去磨点儿什么东西，只是兴致来时进去转了转，从它最上端的窗户遥望港口的船只，或俯视周围的羊群和原野。这座风车又大又白——而且白得很厉害，每当雷雨云绕到它的背后时，整个风车就像一件擦亮的铝器一样。
从风车的其他几个窗口往外看，你还可以看到另外的四个风车，这些风车和它一样，也都闲置着。其中一个已经破损得非常厉害，还有一个也只剩下了两块翼板。但就在下一道山冈，远得望不见的东北方向，有一个风车在那里欢快地转动着。另外，由此再折向西北四五英里的地方，也有一个风车还在运转。所以，这个地方的情形还不至于像全国其他地方那么糟糕，任由阵阵好风从身边白白吹过……
一想起因蒸汽机以及工程师的聪明才智带给英国的种种损失，人们总会把风车的衰落列为其中的第一项。也许如果只从景物的美观别致来说，英国所遭遇的最大不幸是镀锌铁屋顶的发明。不过，毕竟红色屋顶的美好不只是安详富丽与舒适，转动着的风车不仅看起来美丽，而且非常浪漫：一个受制于自然的魔力但情愿为人类服务的温驯家伙，一个飞舞旋转的怪物，往往也是一个让人惧怕的东西。如果谁在风力正强的时候靠近一个风车轰鸣的翼板，心里都会骤然紧张起来——那感觉就像人们在暴风雨中望见水浪冲击堤岸的情景一样。此时待在风车房里面的话，就能对声音的来历有些体会，因为这里就是声音的洞穴。当然，有些孔洞中发出的轰鸣声震耳欲聋，具有很大的威力，但风车的声音大体来说是比较自然的，它们是木头与西南风搏斗时产生的，它充盈于人耳，而不会震耳欲聋。而且，这种效果并没有因为没有风或者磨坊主人及其用人的淡漠而有所减弱，这些人即使是在震耳欲聋的喧闹下，也总是一副文静样子，如同教堂管事人一般有条不紊地办事。
当然，我进入的磨坊并没有如此喧闹，我只是偶尔听到那些闲置的翼板上的横木作几下摆动罢了，一切都是如此寂静。更使人惆怅的是，一切又仿佛已完全就绪，就等着当天开工了。这个风车以前——大约几十年前——也曾是生气勃勃的，但是从那以后，它就永归沉寂，毫无生气，就像一条溪流在夜里突然遭遇封冻，或者像丁尼生《睡美人》诗中的宫殿那样寂寞。这风车并未损坏——它只是失去了魂魄。风车上几个苹果木的榫子已从轮机上脱落下来，地板上的木条也有几根烂掉了，但也仅是如此而已。只要一周的时间，就足以把这一切都修好。但永远没有这种可能了。因此，以前曾经使千千万万个英国风车一起欢舞的阵阵好风，而今只能在英吉利海峡上面徒劳地吹过。
Chance recently made me for a while the tenant of a
windmill. Not to live in, and unhappily not to grind corn in, but to visit as
the mood arose, and see the ships in the harbour from the topmost window, and
look down on the sheep and the green world all around. For this mill stands
high and white—so white, indeed, that when there is a thunder-cloud behind it,
it seems a thing of polished aluminium.
From its windows you can see four other mills, all like
itself, idle, and one merely a ruin and one with only two sweeps left. But just
over the next range of hills, out of sight, to the northeast, is a windmill
that still merrily goes, and about five miles away to the northwest is another
also active; so that things are not quite so bad hereabouts as in many parts of
the country, where the good breezes blow altogether in vain...
Thinking over the losses which England has had forced
upon her by steam and the ingenuity of the engineer, one is disposed to count
the decay of the windmill among the first. Perhaps in the matter of pure
picture squeness the most serious thing that ever happened to England was the
discovery of galvanized iron roofing; but, after all, there was never anything
but quiet and rich and comfortable beauty about red roofs, whereas the living
windmill is not only beautiful but romantic too: a willing, man-serving creature, yoked to the elements, a whirling monster, often a thing of terror.
No one can stand very near the crashing sweeps of a windmill in half a gale
without a tightening of the heart a feeling comparable to that which comes from
watching the waves break over a wall in a storm. And to be within the mill at
such a time is to know something of sound’s very sources; it is the cave of
noise itself. No doubt there are dens of hammering energy which are more
shattering, but the noise of a windmill is largely natural, the product of wood
striving with the good sou’wester; it fills the ears rather than assaults them.
The effect, moreover, is by no means lessened by the absence of the wind itself
and the silent nonchalance of the miller and his man, who move about in the
midst of this appalling racket with the quiet efficiency of vergers.
In my mill, of course, there is no such uproar; nothing
but the occasional shaking of the cross-pieces of the idle sails. Everything is
still; and the pity of it is that everything is in almost perfect order for the
day’s work. The mill one day some score
years ago was full of life; the next, and ever after, mute and lifeless, like a
stream frozen in a night or the palace in Tennyson’s ballad of the “Sleeping
Beauty.” There is no decay merely
inanition. One or two of the apple-wood cogs have been broken from the great
wheel; a few floor planks have been rotted; but that is all. A week’ s
overhauling would put everything right. But it will never come, and the
cheerful winds that once were to drive a thousand English mills so happily now
bustle over the Channel in vain.
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