简单优美的英文美文荐读
英美文学是以英语为工具形象化地反映客观现实的艺术,用不同的形式表现着创作者的内心情感,同时反映一定时期、地域的社会生活。下面是学习啦小编带来的简单优美的英文美文，欢迎阅读!
简单优美的英文美文篇一
My Mother's Gift
I grew up in a small town where the elementary school was a ten-minute walk from my house and in an age , not so long ago , when children could go home for lunch and find their mothers waiting.
At the time, I did not consider this a luxury, although today it certainly would be. I took it for granted that mothers were the sandwich-makers, the finger-painting appreciators and the homework monitors. I never questioned that this ambitious, intelligent woman, who had had a career before I was born and would eventually return to a career, would spend almost every lunch hour throughout my elementary school years just with me.
I only knew that when the noon bell rang, I would race breathlessly home. My mother would be standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me with a look that suggested I was the only important thing she had on her mind. For this, I am forever grateful.
Some sounds bring it all back: the high pitched squeal of my mother's teakettle, the rumble of the washing machine in the basement and the jangle of my dog's license tags as she bounded down the stairs to greet me. Our time together seemed devoid of the gerrymandered schedules that now pervade my life.
One lunchtime when I was in the third grade will stay with me always. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had painstakingly rehearsed my lines with me. But no matter how easily I delivered them at home, as soon as I stepped onstage, every word disappeared from my head.
Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained that she had written a narrator's part to the play, and asked me to switch roles. Her word, kindly delivered, still stung, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.
I didn't tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my unease, and instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked If I wanted to walk in the yard.
It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine on the trellis was turning green. Under the hugeelm trees, we could see yellow dandelions popping through the grass in bunches, as if a painter had touched our landscape with dabs of gold .I watched my mother casually bend down by one of the clumps. "I think I'm going to dig up all these weeds, "she said, yanking a blossom up by its roots. "From now on, we'll have only roses in this garden. "
"But I like dandelions, " I protested. "All flowers are beautiful-even dandelions. "My mother looked at me seriously. "Yes, every flower gives pleasure in its own way, doesn't it?" She asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. "And that is true of people too, " she added. "Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.
Relieved that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened.She listened and smiled reassuringly.
"But you will be a beautiful narrator, " she said, reminding me of how much I loved to read stories aloud to her. "The narrator's part is every bit as important as the part of a princess. "
Over the next few weeks, with her constant encouragement, I learned to take pride in the role. Lunchtimes were spent reading over my lines and talking abut what I would wear.
Backstage the night of the performance, I felt nervous. A few minutes before the play, my teacher came over to me. "Your mother asked me to give this to you, " she said, handing me a dandelion. Its edges were already beginning to curl and it flopped lazily from its stem. But just looking at it, knowing my mother was out there and thinking of our lunchtime talk, made me proud.
After the play, I took home the flower I had stuffed in the apron of my costume . My mother pressed it between two sheets of paper toweling in a dictionary , laughing as she did it that we were perhaps the only people who would press such a sorry-looking weed .
I often look back on our lunchtimes together , bathed in the soft midday light . They were the commas in my childhood, the pauses that told me life is not savored in premeasured increment, but in the sum of daily rituals and small pleasures we casually share with loved ones. Over peanut-butter sandwiches and chocolate-chip cookies, I learned that love, first and foremost , means being there for the little things .
A few months ago , my mother came to visit , I took off a day from work and treated her to lunch. The restaurant bustled with noontime activity as businesspeople made deals and glanced at their watches. In the middle of all this sat my mother, now retired, and I . From her face I could see that she relished the pace of the work world.
"Mom, you must have been terribly bored staying at home when I was a child, " I said.
"Bored? Housework is boring. But you were never boring. "
I didn't believe her, so I pressed. "Surely children are not as stimulating as a career. "
"A career is stimulating, " she said. "I'm glad I had one. But a career is like an open balloon.
It remains inflated only as long as you keep pumping. A child is a seed. You water it. You care for it the best you can. And then it grows all by itself into a beautiful flower. "
Just then, looking at her, I could picture us sitting at her kitchen table once again, and I understood why I kept that flaky brown dandelion in our old family dictionary pressed between two crumpled bits of paper towel.
简单优美的英文美文篇二
Real Friend
Horror gripped the heart of the World War I soldier, as he saw his life-long friend fall in battle.Caught in a trench with continuous gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier asked his lieutenant if he might go out into the "No Man's Land" between the trenches to bring his fallen comrade back.
"You can go," said the lieutenant, "but I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead and you may throw your own life away."
The lieutenant's words didn't matter, and the soldier went anyway. Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulder, and bring him back to their company's trench.As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend.
"I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Your friend is dead, and you are mortally wounded."
"It was worth it, though, sir," the soldier said.
"How do you mean, 'worth it'?" responded the lieutenant. "Your friend is dead!"
"Yes sir," the private answered. "But it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive, and I had the satisfaction of hearing him say, 'Jim, I knew you'd come.'"
Many a times in life, whether a thing is worth doing or not really depends on how you look at it. Take up all your courage and do something your heart tells you to do so that you may not regret not doing it later in life. May each and everyone of you be blessed with the company of true friends.
简单优美的英文美文篇三
Love Can Last Forever
I can honestly say it was the best of times and the worst of times. I was joyfully expecting my first child at the same time that my once-energetic, zestful mother was losing her battle with a brain tumor.
For ten years, my fiercely independent and courageous mother had fought, but none of the surgeries or treatments had been successful. Still, she never lost her ability to smile. But now, finally, at only fifty-five, she became totally disabled --- unable to speak, walk, eat or dress on her own.
As she grew closer and closer to death, my baby grew closer and closer to life inside me. My biggest fear was that their lives would never connect. I grieved not only for the upcoming loss of my mother, but also that she and my baby would never know each other.
My fear seemed well-founded. A few weeks before my due date, Mother lapsed into a deep coma. Her doctors did not hold any hope; they told us her time was up. It was useless to put in a feeding tube, they said; she would never awaken.
We brought Mother home her own bed in her own house, and we insisted on care to keep her comfortable. As often as I could, I sat beside her and talked to her about the baby moving inside me. I hoped that somehow deep inside me, she knew.
On February 3, 1989, at about the same time my labor started, Mother opened her eyes.When they told me this at the hospital, I called her home and asked for the phone to be put to Mom’s ear.
“Mom-Mom-listen. The baby is coming! You’re going to have a new grandchild. Do you understand?”
“Yes!”
What a wonderful word! The first clear word she’d spoken in months!
When I called again an hour later, the nurse at her house told me the impossible: Mom was sitting up, her oxygen tubes removed. She was smiling.
“Mom, it’s a boy! You have a new grandson!”
“Yes! Yes! I know!”
Four words. Four beautiful words.
By the time I brought Jacob home, Mom was sitting in her chair, dressed and ready to welcome him. Tears of joy blocked my vision as I laid my son in her arms and she clucked at him. They stared at each other.
They knew.
For two more weeks, Mother clucked, smiled and held Jacob. For two weeks she spoke to my father, her children and grandchildren in complete sentences. For two miracle weeks,she gave us joy.
Then she quietly slipped back into a coma and, after visits from all her children, was finally free of the pain and confines of a body that no longer did her will.
Memories of my son’s birth will always be bittersweet for me, but it was at this time that I learned an important truth about living. For while both joy and sorrow are fleeting, and often intertwined, love has the power to overcome both. And love can last forever.
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