1、国际关系学院英语语言文学专业英美文学真题 2008年及答案解析(总分：150.00，做题时间：90 分钟)1.The Love Song of J. Alfred PrufrockS“io credesse che mia risposta fosseA persona che mai tornasse al mondo,Questa fiama staria senza piu scosse.Ma perciocche giarnmai di questo fondoNon torno vivo alcun, s“I“odo il veroSenza tema d“infamia ti ri
2、spondo.Let us go then, you and I,When the evening is spread out against the skyLike a patient etherized upon a table;Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,The muttering retreatsOf restless nights in one-night cheap hotelAnd sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells;Streets tat follow like a
3、tedious argumentOf insidious intentTo lead you to an overwhelming question.Oh, do not ask, “What is it?“Let us go and make our visit.In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo.The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-pa
4、nes,Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,And seeing that it was a soft October night,Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.And indeed t
5、here will be timeFor the yellow smoke that slides along the street,Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;There will be time, there will be timeTo prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;There will be time to murder and create,And time for all the works and days of handsThat lift and drop a q
6、uestion on your plateTime for you and time for me,And time yet for a hundred indecisions,And for a hundred visions and revisions,Before the taking of a toast and tea.In the room the women come and goTalking of Michelangelo.And indeed there will be timeTo wonder, “Do I dare?“ and, “Do I dare?“Time to
7、 turn back and descend the stair,With a bald spot in the middle of my hair(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!“)My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin(They will say:“ By how his arms and legs are thin!“)Do I dare?Dist
8、urb the universe?In a minute there is timeFor decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.For I have known them all already, known them allHave known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;I know the voices dying with coffee spoons;I know the voices
9、 dying with a dying fallBeneath the music from a farther room.So how should I presume?And I have known the eyes already, known them allThe eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,Then how should I beginTo spit o
10、ut all the butt-ends of my days and ways?And how should I presume?And I have known the arms already, known them allArms that are braceleted and white and bare(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)Is it perfume from a dressThat makes me so digress?Arms that lie along a table, or wrap a
11、bout a shawl.And should I then presume?And how should I begin?Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streetsAnd watched the smoke that rises from the pipesOf lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?I should have been a pair of ragged clawsScuttling across the floors of silent se
12、as.And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!Smoothed by long fingers,Asleep. tired. or it malingers,Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed
13、,Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,I am no prophetand here“s no great matter;I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,And in short, I was afraid.And would it have been worth it, after all,Aft
14、er the cups, the marmalade, the tea,Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,Would it have been worth while,To have bitten off the matter with a smile,To have squeezed the universe into a ballTo roll it towards some overwhelming question,To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,Come back
15、to tell you all, I shall tell you all“If one, settling a pillow by her head,Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.That is not it, at all.“And would it have been worth it, after all,Would it have been worth while,After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,After the novels, a
16、fter the teacups, after the skirts that trail alongThe floorAnd this, and so much more? It is impossible to say just what I mean!But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:Would it have been worth whileIf one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,And turning toward the w
17、indow, should say:“That is not it at all,That is not what I meant, at all.“No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;Am an attendant lord, one that will doTo swell a progress, start a scene or two.Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,Deferential, glad to be of usePolitic, cautious, and me
18、ticulous;Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-Almost, at times, the Fool.I grow old. I grow old.I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.I h
19、ave heard the mermaids singing, each to each.I do not thing that they will sing to me.I have seen them riding seaward on the wavesCombing the white hair of the waves blown backWhen the wind blows the water white and black.We have lingered in the chambers of the seaBy sea-girls wreathed with seaweed
20、red and brownTill human voices wake us, and we drown.（分数：90.00）_2.On the RoadHe was not interested in the snow. When he got off the freight, one early evening during the depression, Sargeant never even noticed the snow. But he must have felt it seeping down his neck, cold, wet, sopping in his shoes.
21、 But if you had asked him, he wouldn“t have known it was snowing. Sargeant didn“t see the snow, not even under the bright lights of the main street, falling white and flaky against the night. He was too hungry, too sleepy, too tired. The Reverend Mr. Dorset, however, saw the snow when he switched on
22、 his porch light, opened the front door of his parsonage, and found standing there before him a big black man with snow on his face, a human piece of night with snow on his faceobviously unemployed. Said the Reverend Mr. Dorset before Sargeant even realized he“d opened his mouth: “I“m sorry. No! Go
23、right down this street four blocks and turn to your left, walk up seven and you“ll see the Relief Shelter. I“m sorry. No!“ He shut the door. Sargeant wanted to tell the holy man that he had already been to the Relief Shelter, been to hundreds of relief shelters during the depression years, the beds
24、were always gone and supper was over, the place was full, and they drew the color line anyhow. But the minister said “No“ and shut the door. Evidently he didn“t want to hear about it. And he had a door to shut. The big black man turned away. And even yet he didn“t see the snow, walking right into it
25、. Maybe he sensed it, cold, wet, sticking to his jaws, wet on his black hands, sopping in his shoes. He stopped and stood on the sidewalk hunched over-hungry, sleepy, coldlooking up and down. Then he looked right where he wasin front of a church! Of course! A church! Sure, right next to a parsonage,
26、 certainly a church. It had two doors. Broad white steps in the night all snowy white, two high arched doors with slender stone pillars on either side. And way up, a round lacy window with a stone crucifix in the middle and Christ on the crucifix in stone. All this was pale in the street lights, sol
27、id and stony pale in the snow. Sargeant blinked. When he looked up, the snow fell into his eyes. For the first time that night he saw the snow. He shook his head. He shook the snow from his coat sleeves, felt hungry, felt lost, felt not lost, felt cold. He walked up the steps for the church. He knoc
28、ked at the door. No answer. He tried the handle. Locked. He put his shoulder against the door and his long black body slanted like a ramrod. He pushed. With loud rhythmic grunts, like the grunts in a chain-gang song, he pushed against the door. “I“m tired,.Huh! .Hangry.Uh! .I“m sleepy.Huh! I“m cold.
29、I got to sleep somewhere,“ Sargeant said. “This here is church, ain“t it? Well, uh!“ He pushed against the door. Suddenly, with an undue cracking and squeaking, the door began to give way to the tall black Negro who pushed ferociously against the door. By now two or three white people had stopped in
30、 the street, and Sargeant was vaguely aware of some of them yelling at him concerning the door. Three or four more came running, yelling at him. “Hey!“ they said, “Hey!“ “Uh-huh,“ answered the big tall Negro, “I know it“s a white folks“ church, but I got to sleep somewhere.“ He gave another lunge at
31、 the door. “Huh!“ And the door broke open. But just when the door gave way two white cops arrived in a car, ran up the steps with their clubs, and grabbed Sargeant. But Sargeant for once had no intention of being pulled or pushed away from the door. Sargeant grabbed, but not for anything so weak as
32、a broken door. He grabbed for one of the tall stone pillars beside the door, grabbed at it and caught it. And held it. The cops pulled. Sargeant pulled. Most of the people in the street got behind the cops and helped them pull. “A big black unemployed Negro holding onto our church!“ thought the peop
33、le. “The idea!“ The cops began to beat Sargeant over the head, and nobody protested. But he held on. And then the church fell down. Gradually, the big stone front of the church fell down, the walls and the rafters, the crucifix and the Christ. Then the whole thing fell down, covering the cops and th
34、e people with bricks and stones and debris. The whole church fell down in the snow. Sargeant got out from under the church and went walking on up the street with the stone pillar on his shoulder. He was under the impression that he had buried the parsonage and the Reverend Mr. Dorset who said “No!“.
35、 So he laughed, and threw the pillar six blocks up the street and went on. Sargeant thought he was alone, but listening to the crunch, crunch, crunch on the snow of his own footsteps, he heard other footsteps, too, doubling his own. He looked around, and there was Christ walking along beside him, th
36、e same Christ that had been on the cross on the churchstill stone with a rough stone surface, walking along beside him just like he was broken of the cross when the church fell down. “Well, I“ll be dogged,“ said Sargeant. “This here“s the first time I ever seed you off the cross.“ “Yes,“ said Christ
37、, crunching his feet in the snow. “You had to pull the church down to get me off the cross.“ “You glad?“ said Sargeant. “I sure am,“ said Christ. They both laughed. “I“m a hell of a fellow, ain“t I?“ said Sargeant. “Done pulled the church down!“ “You did a good job,“ said Christ. “They have kept me
38、nailed on a cross nearly two thousand years.“ “Whee-ee-e!“ saie Sargent. “I know you are glad to get off.“ “I sure am“ said Christ. They walked on in the snow. Sargenat looked at the man of stone. “And you been up there two thousand years?“ “I sure have,“ Christ said. “Well, if I had a little cash,“
39、 said Sargeant, “I“d show you around a bit.“ “I been around,“ said Christ. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago.“ “All the same,“ said Christ, “I“ve been around,“ They walked on in the snow until they came to the railroad yards. Sargeant was tired, sweating and tired. “Where you goin“?“ Sargeant said
40、, stopping by the tracks. He looked at Christ. Sargenat said, “I“m just a bum on the road. How about you? Where you goin“?“ “God knows,“ Christ said, “but I“m leavin“ here.“ They saw the red and green lights of the railroad yard half veiled by the snow that fell out of the night. Away down the track
41、 they saw a fire in a hobo jungle. “I can go there and sleep,“ Sargeant said. “You can?“ “Sure,“ said Sargeant. “That place ain“t got no doors.“ Outside the town, along the tracks, there were barren trees and bushes below the embankment, snow-gray in the dark. And down among the trees and bushes the
42、re were makeshift houses made out of boxes and tin and old pieces of wood and canvas. You couldn“t see them in the dark, but you knew they were there if you“d ever been on the road, if you had ever lived with the homeless and hungry in a depression. “I“m side-tracking,“ Sargeant said. “I“m tired.“ “
43、I“m gonna make it on to Kansas Cit,“ said Christ. “OK,“ Sargeant said, “So long!“ He went down into the hobo jungle and found himself a place to sleep. He never did see Christ no more. About 6:00 a.m. a freight came by. Sargeant scrambled out of the jungle with a dozen or so more hobos and ran along
44、 the track, grabbing at the freight. It was dawn, early dawn, cold and gray. “Wonder where Christ is by now?“ Sargeant thought. “He must-a gone on way on down the road. He didn“t sleep in this jungle.“ Sargeant grabbed the train and started to pull himself up into a moving coal car, over the edge of
45、 a wheeling coal car. But strangely enough, the car was full of cops. The nearest cop rapped Sargeant soundly across the knuckles with his night stick. Wham! Rapped his big black hands for clinging to the top of the car. Wham! But Sargeant did not tuna loose. He clung on and tried to pull himself in
46、to the car. He hollered at the top of his voice, “Damn it, lemme in this car!“ “Shut up,“ barked the cop. “You crazy coon!“ He rapped Sargeant across the knuckles and punched him in the stomach. “You ain“t out in no jungle now, this ain“t no train. You in jail!“ Wham! Across his bare black fingers c
47、linging to the bars of his cell. Wham! Between the steel bars low down against his shins. Suddenly Sargeant realized that he really was in jail. He wasn“t on no train. The blood of the night before had dried on his face, his head hurt terribly, and a cop outside in the corridor was hitting him acros
48、s the knuckles for holding onto the door, yelling and shaking the cell door. “They must-a took me to jail for breaking down the door last night,“ Sargeant thought, “that church door.“ Sargeant went over and sat on a wooden bench against the cold stone wall. He was emptier than ever. His clothes were
49、 wet, clammy cold wet, and shoes sloppy with snow water. It was just about dawn. There he was, locked up behind a cell door, nursing his bruised fingers. The bruised fingers were his, but not the door. Not the club but the fingers. “You wait,“ mumbled Sargeant, black against the fail wall. “I“m gonna break down this door, too.“ “Shut upor I“ll paste you one,“ said the cop. Then he must have been talking to himself because he said, “I wonder where Christ“s gone? I wonder if he“s gone to
