英语短篇美文摘抄3

　　The rain stopped, and the light wind gently brushed her cheek. The night was quiet, and the heart was silent.

　　What time of the grass withered flowers and plants on the ground, inadvertently and bring forth the fresh and tender green shoots, like a missing ever silent hidden traces, suddenly one day he reminded many anacreontic, bitter memories. So, every wind of the night, every rain stop, I am like a naughty child stepping on the grass, looking for that full of flowers green dream. But the flowers always have withered, there is fine water flow, so see each incomplete story end, I will quietly tell myself again, since you can't grasp tomorrow, so cherish the present scenery quietly.

　　The subtle wind, the sound of the dream, your soft voice sounds like a beautiful melody, long and low. Silent night is a period of not sleeping, each note is a memory of the dust. Open the palm of the palm, those who once thought already firmly hold tightly, in the kiss of the wind but also become ethereal blurred. Emotion is a poem without rhyme, just an unconcerned, can not find the true meaning of the poem. Perhaps life is destined to have some memories of waving and turning, only to achieve that kind of defamiliarness but heart to heart.

　　All the time, I like a person to write down a little bit of feelings quietly, just like this summer night, a person in the light looking for a long time to vague memory. Outside the window occasionally a gust of wind, that is a section of the escape from the beautiful scenery.

　　The clear sky, the flowing clouds, the sweet fragrance of the flowers, the green grass like silk, the subtle mood, the light dream. I can't remember when the throbbing heart began a long silence, even when it was raining. No longer for the promise of a light like a fly in the endless night, not because a decisive turn into tears, everything is just a story without end, just a beginning, but don't have to haggle over every ounce in which way the story master will ultimately.

　　The snuggle figure of the street lamp has been faded out of color. The fresh breeze, like the silent dream, still sings the distant melody alone. The scenery is like the beginning, but the face is gone.

　　All said that the moon is the deepest thoughts of the bottom of my heart, so what is the mood in the fog? !

　　The night that has been washed by the rain is a lot of disturbing noise, the flow of every wisp of wind is quietly telling the story of a beautiful story. Sit in front of the window silently, let the mist take your mind to a night after a rain, like now, only with the hand of the pen engraved on the surface. When the day is bright, bind the thought of scattered.

　　The wind of the early morning has drunk the young dream. The flowers of the balcony seem to have changed into attractive skirt, green on the ground I heard your soft singing. Night is coming, tonight I will sleep quietly, let you in the wind in a shallow laugh.

翻译

　　雨停了，淡淡的风轻轻拂过面颊，夜静了，心儿也静了。

　　什么时节那片绿茵地上凋落了花草，不经意间又悄然生出了鲜嫩的青芽，像一份思念曾经无声隐匿了踪迹，突然某个不经意便又勾起了许多明朗的、苦涩的记忆。于是，每个起风的夜晚，每个雨停的日后，我便如一个顽皮的孩子踏着青草，寻找那个载满了花香绿意的梦。可是，繁花总有枯萎日，细水终有流尽时，所以在看到每一个残缺的故事走向终结时，我又会轻声告诉自己——既然你把握不了明天，那么就安静地珍惜眼前的风景吧。

　　淡淡的风，吹醒了青涩的梦，你轻柔的声音像一首曼妙的旋律，久久低洄耳际。静静的夜是一段不眠的曲，每一个音符都是一幕落尘的记忆。摊开掌心，那些曾以为早已牢牢抓紧的东西，在风的亲吻下却也变得缥缈迷离。感情是一首无韵的诗，只是一个不留神，便寻不到诗里的真谛。也许人生注定要有一些挥手转身的记忆，才会成就那份形同陌路却又心心相印的情意。

　　一直以来都喜欢一个人静静地用文字记下点滴情怀，就像这个夏日的夜晚，一个人在灯光中寻找着久远到模糊的记忆。窗外偶尔拂来一阵清风，那便是某一段章节里逃逸出的亮丽风景。

　　晴朗的天，流动的云，花儿散逸的馨香，碧草如丝，淡淡的心情，轻轻的梦。记不起什么时候那颗悸动的心开始了漫长的沉寂，即使落雨天也依然不惊波澜。不再为一句轻似飞花的承诺守着无尽的黑夜，不会因为一个决绝的转身而泪流满面，一切只不过是一个没有结局的故事，只需要一个华美的开端，却不必斤斤计较故事里的主人翁最终会以怎样的方式落下帷幕。

　　路灯掩映下的相偎身影早被流年褪去了色彩。清爽的风似曾无声的梦，依旧独自浅唱着那首遥远的曲调。风景如初，却是人面无踪。

　　都说赏月是在寄托心底最深刻的思念，那么雾中观花又是如何一种心境呢？！

　　被雨洗过的夜少了许多扰人的喧嚣，指间流淌的每一缕清风都在静静地诉说着一个又一个唯美的故事。默默的坐在窗前，让沉雾把思绪带到某一个雨后的夜晚，像现在这样只是用手中的笔刻下表面的淡然。等到天明，装订散乱的思念。

　　清晨的风惹醉了年少的梦。阳台的花好像又换上了迷人的裙裳，绿茵地上我听到了你轻声的歌唱。夜来了，今晚我会悄悄睡去，任你在风中浅笑徜徉。

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