本文目录
- maiden是什么意思
- 姑娘 翻译成英文是
- 为什么港剧对女警官都叫maiden
- Rozen 和Maiden 分别的意思
- 处女用英语怎么说
- 夜莺与玫瑰英文原文
- 马修·阿诺德 被遗弃的雄人鱼
- 王尔德《夜莺与玫瑰》的林徽因所译版本及英文原文
- 大学英语精读2第四课答案
maiden是什么意思
maiden 英
n. 处女; 未婚女子; 断头机; 未得分的投球;
adj. 处女的，少女的; 首次的，初次的; 没有经验的;
A twice-delayed maiden flight is now scheduled for Sept.21.
该机的处女航曾两度被推迟，目前定于9月21日进行。
姑娘 翻译成英文是
姑娘 的英文：maiden
maiden 读法 英
1、n. 少女，处女；未婚女子；（板球比赛中）未得分的一轮投球；从未跑赢过的赛马
2、adj. （尤指年纪较大女性）未婚的；处女的；（航行、飞行)）首次的；（赛马）从未跑赢过的；（植物）生长期第一年内的
例句
1、The prince fell in love with a fair young maiden.
王子爱上了一位美丽的年轻少女。
2、The poem is about a fair maiden.
这首诗描述的是一个美丽的少女。
短语：
1、maiden name （女子的）婚前姓；娘家姓
2、iron maiden 铁娘子；铁处女（英国伦敦的重金属乐队）
扩展资料
maid的近义词：girl
词语用法：
1、girl作“女孩,姑娘”解时,可以表示小女孩或年轻的未婚女子,有时在口语中甚至可以指已婚妇女,是可数名词。
2、girl还可作“女儿”解,在非正式语体中还可作“女人、女工、女仆”等解。
词义辨析：
girl, daughter, maid, maiden这组词都有“姑娘，女孩子”的意思，其区别是：
1、girl 指7岁到12岁左右的女孩，与boy相对，广义指未婚的女孩。
2、daughter 指女子对父母而言的概称，不涉及年龄的大小。
3、maid 指闺女，女佣人。
4、maiden 指少女，处女或未婚女子。
为什么港剧对女警官都叫maiden
aiden是指没有结婚的女子。对他们这么叫是一种尊敬的称呼，尤其是在港剧中，叫女子maiden是说明他们长得年轻，看起来像是没有结婚一样，即使对于四五十岁的女子也这样称呼。
Rozen 和Maiden 分别的意思
蔷薇少女 (日本语:ローゼンメイデン,德语:Rozen Maiden),又名玫瑰少女,是日本双人漫画家组合PEACH-PIT的漫画,主要叙述男主角樱田纯在偶然的情况下获得了神秘的蔷薇少女第五人偶-真红,而开启了一连串事件.后由TBS电视台制作成动画.动画播出后非常受欢迎,因此尽管漫画尚未完结 (目前到第六册),电脑台又制作了原创的续集蔷薇少女-梦见 (Rozen Maiden Träumend).
樱田纯,一名不愿上学而长期足不出户的中学二年生,兴趣是上网购物,喜欢在购买物品后的退货期内退回物品,买了许多奇奇怪怪的诅咒物品.有一天收到一张传单,上面只写一个“上发条 还是不上发条“的选项,在好奇心驱使下选举了“上发条“,之后房间就出现了一个神秘的皮箱,里面装著一个非常美丽而且质感近似真人的人偶 (ドール),使用皮箱内的发条转动背部的开关后,人偶慢慢的启动了......
【STAFF】
原作: PEACH-PIT
监督: 松尾 衡
剧本构成: 花田十辉
脚本: 花田十辉
冈田麿里
玉井☆豪
人物设计: 石井久美
音楽: 光宗信吉
音楽制作: Mellow Head
动画制作: ノーマッド
【CAST】
桜田ジュン: 真田アサミ
真红: 沢城みゆき
雏莓: 野川さくら
水银灯: 田中理恵
桜田のり: 力丸乃りこ
处女用英语怎么说
现在标准用词：virgin
在过去几个世纪的欧洲常用：maiden （现在某些地区常将其作委婉用词）
相关词语：virginity，hymen，deflower
夜莺与玫瑰英文原文
《夜莺与玫瑰》
“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,“ cried the young Student, “but in all my garden there is no red rose。“
“她说如果我给她带来红玫瑰，她会和我跳舞的，”年轻的学生喊道，“但我的花园里没有红玫瑰。”
From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered。
夜莺从橡树的巢穴里听到了他的声音，她透过树叶向外望去，感到奇怪。
“No red rose in all my garden!“ he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend！
“我的花园里没有红玫瑰！”他哭了，他那双美丽的眼睛里充满了泪水。”啊，幸福取决于什么小事！
I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want (没有) of a red rose is my life made wretched。“
我读过智者所写的一切，哲学的一切秘密都是我的，然而，由于缺少一朵红玫瑰，我的生活就变得悲惨。”
“Here at last is a true lover,“ said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him。
“终于有了一个真正的情人，”夜莺说。我夜以继日地歌颂他。
though I knew him not：night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him。
虽然我不认识他；我夜以继日地向星空讲述他的故事，现在我看见了他。
His hair is dark as the hyacinth（风信子）-- blossom，and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory；
他的头发黑得像风信子一样开放，他的嘴唇红得像他渴望的玫瑰；
and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow。“
但是激情使他的脸像苍白的象牙，悲伤使她的印记印在他的额头上。
《夜莺与玫瑰》中的主人公是体态孱弱的夜莺，它以极其微小的力量，为了素不相识者的幸福以无畏的精神做了智者、强者都办不到的“惊天动地”的事，发人深省。作品中王尔德别出心裁地把它的巢安放在高达25米的栋树的枝叶中，为其避风躲雨。喻义是弱小的它是需要强者呵护的。
可是，就是这位尚需他人呵护的弱小者，当它看到学子因无法得到一朵红玫瑰，将失掉爱情而悲泣时，深为其对爱情的“至诚”而感动。当得知不得不用心脏抵着锋利的玫瑰刺唱一夜动听的歌方才得到这只玫瑰时，它义无反顾地说：“死亡的代价是巨大的，然而爱情比生命更珍贵。”
心甘情愿地为“爱情”献出了宝贵的生命，用一腔热血染红雪白的玫瑰。王尔德在作品中用了约四分之一的篇幅着力描绘夜莺倾注全部心力，忍着极度的痛苦制作红玫瑰的过程，特别是此段情节发展到高潮时的情景更是扣人心弦。
“当它奄奄一息时急促地唱出了最后一节音符。皎洁的月亮听到它那凄楚动人的歌声，感动地徘徊在天际，忘却了黎明。它用心血培育的这朵红玫瑰听到这歌声，在寒冷的凌晨中销魂得通体震颤了起来，勿速地打开了花蕾”。
此刻，玫瑰树急切地喊叫着：“看啊，看啊！玫瑰花开了。”但是夜莺却没有回答，荆棘刺穿透胸膛的它已经躺在草丛中死去了——这就是王尔德所讴歌的那种为了别人的幸福而甘愿牺牲自己的高贵情操。他认为纯美的品格是能感动天地的——月亮的运行停滞，红玫瑰在严冬绽放。
相形之下，当夜莺迫不及待地赶回去把这一喜讯告知了学子时，受庸俗世风影响的学子却认为：“它像大多数艺术家一样，仅有其假相不合有诚意，更不可能为他人而牺牲自己。”在这里，王尔德再次嘲讽了当时的所谓上流社会的“有识之士”们。
马修·阿诺德 被遗弃的雄人鱼
The Forsaken Merman
by Matthew Arnold
Come, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below!
Now my brothers call from the bay,
Now the great winds shoreward blow,
Now the salt tides seaward flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away!
This way, this way!
Call her once before you go -
Call once yet!
In a voice that she will know:
`Margaret! Margaret!’
Children’s voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother’s ear;
Children’s voices, wild with pain -
Surely she will come again!
Call her once and come away;
This way, this way!
`Mother dear, we cannot stay!
The wild white horses foam and fret.’
Margaret! Margaret!
Come, dear children, come away down;
Call no more!
One last look at the white-walled town,
And the little grey church on the windy shore;
Then come down!
She will not come though you call all day;
Come away, come away!
Children dear, was it yesterday
We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?
Children dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sate with you and me,
On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,
And the youngest sate on her knee.
She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.
She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea;
She said: `I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore today.
’Twill be Easter-time in the world -ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee.’
I said: `Go up, dear heart, through the waves;
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves!’
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.
Children dear, was it yesterday?
Children dear, were we long alone?
`The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan;
Long prayers,’ I said, `in the world they say;
Come,’ I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay.
We went up the beach, by the sandy down
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town;
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still,
To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.
We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains,
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes.
She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
`Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here!
Dear heart,’ I said, `we are long alone;
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.’
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes we sealed to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Come away, children, call no more!
Come away, come down, call no more!
Down, down, down!
Down to the depths of the sea!
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: `O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy!
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well;
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun!’
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,
Till the shuttle drops from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh;
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair.
Come away, away children;
Come children, come down!
The hoarse wind blows coldly;
Lights shine in the town.
She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,
A ceiling of amber,
A pavement of pearl,
Singing: `Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she!
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.’
But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow,
When clear fall the moonlight,
When spring-tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starred with broom,
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanched sands a gloom;
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie,
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.
We will gaze, from the sand-hills,
At the white sleeping town;
At the church on the hillside -
And then come back down.
Singing: `There dwells a loved one,
But cruel is she!
She left lonely for ever
The kings of the sea.’
王尔德《夜莺与玫瑰》的林徽因所译版本及英文原文
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE
《夜莺与玫瑰》原文节选：
“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,“ cried the young Student, “but in all my garden there is no red rose。“
“她说如果我给她带来红玫瑰，她会和我跳舞的，”年轻的学生喊道，“但我的花园里没有红玫瑰。”
From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered。
夜莺从橡树的巢穴里听到了他的声音，她透过树叶向外望去，感到奇怪。
“No red rose in all my garden!“ he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend！
“我的花园里没有红玫瑰！”他哭了，他那双美丽的眼睛里充满了泪水。”啊，幸福取决于什么小事！
I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want (没有) of a red rose is my life made wretched。“
我读过智者所写的一切，哲学的一切秘密都是我的，然而，由于缺少一朵红玫瑰，我的生活就变得悲惨。”
“Here at last is a true lover,“ said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him。
“终于有了一个真正的情人，”夜莺说。我夜以继日地歌颂他。
though I knew him not：night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him。
虽然我不认识他；我夜以继日地向星空讲述他的故事，现在我看见了他。
His hair is dark as the hyacinth（风信子）-- blossom，and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory；
他的头发黑得像风信子一样开放，他的嘴唇红得像他渴望的玫瑰；
and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow。“
但是激情使他的脸像苍白的象牙，悲伤使她的印记印在他的额头上。
扩展资料
创作背景
王尔德生活在19世纪的维多利亚时代，工业革命正在英国如火如荼地进行。整个社会发生了前所未有的剧变，物欲横流金钱至上，“唯利是图”之风弥漫了大不列颠的各个角落。自19世纪初资本主义制度在西欧确立后的数十年间，给社会心理造成了巨大影响。
人们的世界观、价值观发生了很大的变化。在那种社会里资产阶级抹去了所有一切最被尊崇的职业上面的神圣光彩。它把医生、律师、牧师、诗人和学者变成了它拿钱雇佣的仆役”。
王尔德面对当时社会的拜金主义风气、市侩哲学和虚伪的道德，在童话《夜莺与玫瑰》中描绘了一个虚构的故事．以此来揭示了英国资本主义社会中人与人之间赤裸裸的金钱关系和由此产生的种种丑恶现象。追求心灵的唯美世界，以艺术之美来对抗庸俗的社会现实。
参考资料来源：百度百科-夜莺与玫瑰
大学英语精读2第四课答案
Text A
The Nightingale and the Rose
Oscar Wilde
Read the text once for the main idea. Do not refer to the notes, dictionaries or the glossary yet.
“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,“ cried the young Student, “but in all my garden there is no red rose.“
From her nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.
“No red rose in all my garden!“ he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched.“
“Here at last is a true lover,“ said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him, and now I see him.
“The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night,“ murmured the young Student, “and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely and my heart will break.“
“Here, indeed, is the true lover,“ said the Nightingale. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and opals.
“The musicians will play upon their stringed instruments,“ said the young Student, “and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her,“ and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
“Why is he weeping?“ asked a green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
“Why, indeed?“ said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
“Why, indeed?“ whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, in a soft, low voice.
“He is weeping for a red rose,“ said the Nightingale.
“For a red rose?“ they cried, “how very ridiculous!“ and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the Student’s sorrow, and sat silent in the Oak-tree.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot stood a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it. “Give me a red rose,“ she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.“
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are white,“ it answered, “as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.“
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
“Give me a red rose,“ she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.“ But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are yellow,“ it answered, “as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms In the meadow. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.“
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window.
“Give me a red rose,“ she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.“ But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are red,“ it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.“
“One red rose is all that I want,“ cried the Nightingale, “only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?“
“There is a way,“ answered the Tree, “but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.“
“Tell it to me,“ said the Nightingale, “I am not afraid.“
“If you want a red rose,“ said the Tree, “you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s blood.
You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.“
“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,“ cried the Nightingale, “and life is very dear to all. Yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?“
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. “Be happy,“ cried the Nightingale, “be happy, you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover.“
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him. But the Oak-tree understood and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale. “Sing me one last song,“ he whispered. “I shall feel lonely when you are gone.“
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song, the Student got up.
“She has form,“ he said to himself, as he walked away. “That cannot be denied. But has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, like most artists, she is all style without any sincerity.“ And he went to his room, and lay down on his bed, and after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the Moon shone in the heaven, the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,“ cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.“
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart so the rose’s heart remained white.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,“ cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.“
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvelous rose became crimson. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as ruby was the heart.
But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The Red Rose heard it, and trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals in the cold morning air.
“Look, look!“ cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now.“ But the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!“ he cried, “here is the reddest rose I have ever seen.“ And he leaned down and plucked it.
Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s daughter with the rose in his hand.
“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,“ cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.“
But the girl frowned.
“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,“ she answered, “and besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew has sent me some jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost more than flowers.“
“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,“ said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter.
“What a silly thing Love is!“ said the Student as he walked away. “In fact it is quite unpractical, and as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy.“
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.
