初中英語美文欣賞

　　導(dǎo)語：悲哀和眼淚都是真的，區(qū)別只是內(nèi)在和外在，無形和有形。以下小編為大家介紹初中英語美文欣賞文章，歡迎大家閱讀參考!

　　山野的風(fēng)

　　“媽媽，風(fēng)有眼晴嗎?”小時(shí)候的我曾問過媽媽。

　　“有，孩子，風(fēng)會(huì)看著你長大，會(huì)給媽媽傳來你的信息，不管你在哪兒，我都知道你的狀況，因?yàn)轱L(fēng)的眼睛把你的一切都告訴了我”媽媽用胼手摩挲著我的頭。

　　是的，風(fēng)總是喜歡站在樹梢眺望，并學(xué)著母親的樣子，以手加額，大聲地叫喊著我的乳名，天色晚了，叫我趕快回家。有時(shí)，與小朋友玩的正是興起，根本沒聽見，或裝著沒聽到，風(fēng)就會(huì)帶著母親的聲音在耳邊呼呼作響，隨著腳印一直追趕，直催到我回家。

　　不用猜，不管我在山坡放牛，在小河或山塘洗澡，或到菜地里去偷別家的黃瓜之類的東西，母親總能通過風(fēng)來感知，知道她的兒子在哪里。我走得再遠(yuǎn)，也都在母親愛的磁場(chǎng)內(nèi)。一輩子能給我這樣感覺的，只有我的母親。

　　風(fēng)，總是隨著季節(jié)更替變換自己的溫度和味道，變換自己的顏色。嚴(yán)冬剛過，風(fēng)就急急地趕走寒，帶著春的溫暖信息吹遍山崗，小草、林子不日便吐出嫩綠，慢慢地，山崗的野花，家養(yǎng)的梨樹、桃樹也盛開起來，生機(jī)盎然。這時(shí)候的風(fēng)，就像一個(gè)待嫁的姑娘，穿著花紅柳綠的彩服，寧靜、恬淡，有著花的芳香，卻醉于自己的風(fēng)采。兒時(shí)的我，好像有無限的動(dòng)力，總喜歡到后山里看綠摘花，任春風(fēng)浸滿心田，希望自己像春天里的小草一樣，快快長大。母親懂得她兒子的心思，不時(shí)地到田間摘取嫩草回家，讓家里充滿草的新鮮氣息，浸潤我幼小的心靈。

　　到了盛夏，風(fēng)中的熱急劇膨脹，吹在臉上燙的有點(diǎn)灼的感覺，漾來漾去，。帶著幾分神秘與驕傲，把心事寫在臉上，又故作沉靜，把稻谷成熟的信息帶給村子里的人們，催他們趕快農(nóng)忙，在收割的同時(shí)趕快插秧。在田間勞作的一天，晚上悶熱的無法入睡，每人一把用麥桿編的蒲扇，指掌輕捏扇柄，狠狠地晃動(dòng)。母親睡著了，手上的扇子還在輕輕地?fù)u動(dòng)，定格在我身體上方，把涼意扇在我身上。

　　秋天，風(fēng)里的熱里慢慢減少，田地的作物漸漸成熟，稻子進(jìn)了倉，紅薯發(fā)了脹，母親不再那么勞累和心慌。在余暉還在的時(shí)候，母親把一盞昏黃暗淡的煤油燈擺上飯桌，一家老小圍著桌子品嘗，每一口飯和菜，都充滿溫暖和芳香。在搖曳的火舌中，母親熟練地在鍋中涮洗著碗筷，我卻不敢遠(yuǎn)離母親半步，生怕黑夜里串出一只手或沒有身子的鬼，將我捉去，無法再回到母親身邊。

　　四季里的風(fēng)，最本色的還數(shù)冬天，數(shù)九嚴(yán)寒，刺骨的北風(fēng)把人吹得縮手縮腳。母親還是早早地起床，在冷水里淘米洗衣，待太陽爬上山頂，陽光帶來的暖意融化冰霜，母親便輕喚我的乳名，躲在被窩里的我才慢慢將頭探出，應(yīng)著母親，穿起母親親手縫織厚厚的棉襖。除了小臉被凍的通紅，身上熱的不比夏天差，因?yàn)槊抟\是用母愛織成的，寒冷懼怕它，躲的遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)的。

　　山野里的風(fēng)，塞滿了母親對(duì)兒子的呵護(hù)與溫暖，在某種義意上是高高揚(yáng)起的一面寫滿母愛的旗幟!

　　我從風(fēng)中的山野來到城市，背井離鄉(xiāng)地生活了19年，總覺得城市里的風(fēng)有點(diǎn)異樣的感覺和味道，少了山野風(fēng)的清新自然和純正，而且悶的讓人心慌意亂，找不到做人的準(zhǔn)則，少了理智，卻橫生出趨炎附勢(shì)，沒有曠野的風(fēng)雨撲打的自在。

　　母親，總不愿隨我到城里生活，一直想呆在村子里，雖近七旬，卻還在風(fēng)里雨盡心勞作，在灶屋里忙碌。而風(fēng)，也在忙著將母親要我保持山里孩子的清純信息傳遞給，怕我迷失方向，在我心里樹起標(biāo)桿，城里的風(fēng)再怎么濁也蝕不到它!

　　"Mother, does the wind have a clear eye?" I asked my mother when I was a child.

　　"There are children, the wind will see you grow up, will give you the information coming from the mother, no matter where you are, I know your situation, because the wind's eyes to everything you told me," Mom heloma hand over my head.

　　Yes, the wind in the trees at the station always love, and like a mother, that is, loudly shouting my name, it was late, told me to go home. Sometimes, playing with children is just the rise, which is not heard or heard. The wind will whistle around the ear with the mother's voice. As the footprint keeps catching up, it will rush me to go home.

　　Don't guess, whether I'm in the hillside cattle in the river or ponds or bathing, the vegetable to steal another cucumber like, mother always through the wind to know where her son perception. I walk far, in the magnetic field of my mother's love. All my life can give me such a feeling, only my mother.

　　Wind, always changing their temperature and taste with the change of the season, change their color. Just after the winter, the wind is hurried away cold, with the warmth of spring information blowing through the hills, grass and woods I will spit out the green hills, slowly, wild flowers, pear, peach blossom also domesticated, full of vitality. At this time the wind, like a gorgeous girl, wearing the color clothes, bright red blossoms and green willows, quiet and tranquil, with the fragrance of the flowers, but drunk in their own style. My childhood, seems to have unlimited power, always love to see the mountains green flowers, spring breeze soaked heart, like spring grass, grow up quickly. The mother knew her son's mind, from time to time to pick the grass field to go home, let the house is full of grass fresh breath, infiltration of my young heart.

　　In the summer, the heat in the wind was inflated rapidly, and a burning sensation on the face, rippling and rippling. With a bit of mystery and pride, the mind in the face, and pretending to be calm, the people of rice mature information to the village, they quickly rush in the harvest at the same time to harvest, planting. In the field work day and night hot can not sleep, a person with straw series fan, palm Qingnie fan handle, violently shaking. The mother was asleep, the fan in his hand was still shaking gently, fixed on my body, and fanning the coolness on me.

　　The autumn wind heat slowly reduced, crop fields gradually mature, the rice into the warehouse, the sweet potato bulging, less tired mother and flustered. When light still, mother took a dim dim kerosene lamp on the table, the whole family, old and young around the table every mouthful taste, rice and vegetables are full of warm and fragrant. In the flickering flames, mother skillfully in the pot washing the dishes, I dare not half a step away from the mother, for fear of the night on a hand or body of the ghost, I will catch, can not go back to the mother.

　　The seasons in the wind, the most natural number is also the winter, winter cold, biting north wind to blow too timid. The mother got up early rice in cold water washing, the sun climbed to the top of the mountain, the sun brings warmth melts the ice, the mother will call my name, hiding in bed I slowly will head out, should be a mother, mother wore hand sewn fabric thick cotton padded jacket. In addition to face frozen red, body heat is not worse than in summer, because the jacket is woven with motherly love, cold fear it, hide away.

　　The wind in the mountain is filled with the mother's care and warmth to his son. In some sense, it is a high flag of mother's love.

　　I came to the city from the wind in the mountains, to leave the hometown 19 years of living in the city, always feel the wind a little strange feeling and taste, less fresh and natural and pure mountain wind, and stuffy and unnerving, can not find the criteria for life, less rational, but not out begging. The rain beat free wilderness.

　　Mother always unwilling to live in the city with me, always wanted to stay in the village, although nearly seventy years, still in the wind with rain in the kitchen busy work room. And the wind is also busy to keep my mother from me to keep the innocent information of the children in the mountain. I am afraid that I will lose my way and set up a benchmark in my heart.

　　初中英語美文欣賞2

　　雨前

　　最后的鴿群帶著低弱的笛聲在微風(fēng)里劃一個(gè)圈子后，也消失了。也許是誤認(rèn)這灰暗的凄冷的天空為夜色的來襲，或是也預(yù)感到風(fēng)雨的將至，遂過早地飛回到它們溫暖的木舍。

　　幾天的陽光在柳條上撒下的一抹嫩綠，被塵土埋掩得有憔悴色了，是需要一次洗滌。還有干裂的大地和樹根也早已期待著雨。雨卻遲疑著。

　　我懷想故鄉(xiāng)的雷聲和雨聲。那隆隆的有力的搏擊，從山谷返響到山谷，仿佛春之芽就從凍土里震動(dòng)、驚醒，而怒茁出來。細(xì)草樣柔的雨聲又以溫存之手撫摩它，使它簇生油綠的枝葉而開出紅色的花。這些懷想如鄉(xiāng)愁一樣縈繞得我憂郁了。我心里的氣候也和這北方大陸一樣缺少雨量，一滴溫柔的淚在我枯澀的眼里，如遲疑在這陰沉的天空里的雨點(diǎn)，久不落下。

　　白色的鴨也似有一點(diǎn)煩燥了，有不潔的顏色的都市的河溝里傳出它們的焦急的叫聲。有的還未厭倦那船一樣的徐徐地劃行。有的卻倒插它們的長頸在水里，紅色的蹼趾伸在尾后，不停地?fù)鋼糁�水以支持身體的平衡。不知是在尋找溝底的細(xì)微食物，還是貪那深深的水里的寒冷。

　　有幾個(gè)已上岸了。在柳樹下來回地作紳士的散步，舒息劃行的疾勞。然后參差地站著，用嘴細(xì)細(xì)地?fù)崂硭鼈儽轶w白色的羽毛，間或又搖動(dòng)身子或撲展著闊翅，使那綴在羽手間的大珠墜落。一個(gè)已修飾完畢的，彎曲它的頸到背上，長長的紅嘴藏沒在翅膀里，靜靜合上它白色的茸毛間的小黑眼，仿佛準(zhǔn)備睡眠。可憐的小動(dòng)物，你就是這樣做你的夢(mèng)嗎?

　　我想起故鄉(xiāng)放雛鴨的人了。一大群鵝黃色的'雛鴨游牧在溪流間。清淺的水，兩岸青青的草，一根長長的竹竿在牧人的手里。他的小隊(duì)伍是多么歡欣地發(fā)出啾啁聲，又多么馴服地隨著他的竿頭越過一個(gè)田野又一個(gè)山坡!夜來了，帳幕似的竹篷撐在地上，就是他的家。但這是怎樣遼遠(yuǎn)的想象啊!在這多塵土的國度里，我僅希望聽見一點(diǎn)樹葉上的雨聲。一點(diǎn)雨聲的幽涼滴到我的憔悴的夢(mèng)里，也許會(huì)長成一樹圓圓的綠陰來覆蔭我自己。

　　我仰起頭。天空低垂如灰色的霧幕，落下一些寒冷的碎屑到我臉上。一只遠(yuǎn)來的鷹隼仿佛帶著怒憤，對(duì)這沉重的天色的怒憤，平張的雙翅不動(dòng)地從天空斜插下，幾乎觸到河溝對(duì)岸的土阜，而又鼓撲著雙翅，作出猛烈的聲響騰上了。那樣巨大的翅使我驚異。我看見了它兩肋間斑白的羽毛。

　　接著聽見了它有力的鳴聲，如同一個(gè)巨大的心的呼號(hào)，或是在黑暗里尋找伴侶的叫喚。

　　然而雨還是沒有來。

　　The pigeons with faint finally etched a circle in the light breeze, have disappeared. Perhaps they mistook the gloomy sky and cold for the onset of night, or have a hunch that rain is approaching, so they fly back to their warm cabin.

　　A few days of sunshine on the willow, a touch of green, buried in the dust is haggard, it is a need for a washing. And the dry ground and the roots of the tree have long been looking for rain. The rain was hesitating.

　　I think of thunder and rain in my hometown. Those mighty crashes rumbled, from the valley echo Valley, as if spring shoots were shaking in the frozen ground, woke up, and anger out zhuo. Fine grass like soft rain with gentle hands stroked it, so that clumps of green leaves and pink flowers. This feeling of nostalgia about my melancholy. My heart is the North China climate and lack of rainfall, a tear in my dull eyes, such as lingering in the murky sky of the rain, for a long time not to fall.

　　The white ducks looked a bit tired, their anxious cries from the dirty city rivers. Paddling slowly some were not weary of the ship. Others were putting their necks in the water, red webbed toe extension in the tail, constantly beat against the water to support the balance of the body. I do not know to look for the fine food at the bottom of the ditch, or to greedy the cold in the deep water.

　　A few have landed. Walk in the willow swaggered back, the man Lao Shu interest. Then stood unevenly, with the mouth carefully ask them full of white feathers, and occasionally shake or spread their broad wings that compose in hand between the falling feather. One that had already finished, bending its neck on the back, long billed hiding in the wings, quietly closed its white fuzz small black eyes, as if it were going to sleep. Poor little animal, are you doing your dream?

　　I think the hometown people put ducklings. A large group of goose yellow ducklings in the streams. Limpid water, lush green grass on the banks, with a long bamboo pole in his hand. His team is glad to look after a sound, and how meekly with his rod head over a field and a hillside! Night, tent like bamboo shed on the ground, is his home. But this is what a distant imagination! In this country of dust, I only want to hear the sound of raindrops on leaves. A little raindrop dripping into my haggard dream, may grow into a round green shade to cover myself.

　　I raised my head. The sky was drooping like a grey fog curtain, and some cold crumbs fell on my face. A long distance to the hawk as if with anger, against the heavy weather anger, flat piece of wings do not move from the sky Xiecha, almost touched the hillock on the other side of the brook, and beat its wings and make violently. That great wing amazes me. I saw it two grizzled feathers.

　　Then he heard its powerful voice, like a great heart call, or the call of a companion in the dark.

　　But the rain did not come.

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