Why do we read poetry? First obvious one: because we enjoy it. The only other reason is for academic purposes, and that's not why this is here.

    Many of us read poetry simply because we often feel depressed and hopelessly lost, and in poetry we see how beautiful and strange everything is. So in that way poetry calms our anxiety.

    There are many different kinds of poems. They are not all calming. Some poems make me anxious, angry, scared, and sad, which is why I value them. As a reader, I want a full meal, not just dessert. I want the sweet and the bitter. Often, I read poetry when I'm already relaxed. In fact, I read more when I'm not stressed out.

    Here are the main reasons I respond to poetry, as far as I can tell. Metrical(格律的) poems are about setting up rules and then bending them. Usually, this is done by setting up a rhythm and then violating it or almost violating it. And then returning to it again. This satisfies my desire for order and also my desire for testing boundaries.

    Poetry plays with language and often slams words together in surprising ways, which is thrilling the way food can be when the chef has paired ingredients you never thought would taste good together but somehow do.

    Many poems are dense. Words mean two or three things at once and lots of suggestions are packed between the lines. This is intellectually inspiring and it allows me to read the same poem over and over always finding new things in it.

    And, of course, there's the subject matter. It interests me just as it would if the same subject was explored in a story or essay. Not all poems interest me in this way, but then not all stories and essays do, either.

根据短文内容，选择最佳答案，并将选定答案的字母标号填在题前括号内。

    One of the greatest contributions to the first Oxford English Dictionary was also one of its most unusual. In 1879, Oxford University in England asked Prof. James Murray to serve as editor for what was to be the most ambitious dictionary in the history of the English language. It would include every English word possible and would give not only the definition but also the history of the word and quotations (引文)showing how it was used.

    This was a huge task. So Murrary had to find volunteers from Britain, the United States, and the British colonies to search every newspaper, magazine, and book ever written in English. Hundreds of volunteers responded, including William Chester Minor. Dr. Minor was an American Surgeon who had served in the Civil War and was now living in England. He gave his address as “Broadmoor, Crowthorne, Berkshire,” 50 miles from Oxford.

    Minor joined the army of volunteers sending words and quotations to Murray. Over the next years, he became one of the staff's most valued contributors.

    But he was also a mystery. In spite of many invitations, he would always decline to visit Oxford. So in 1897， Murray finally decided to travel to Crowthorne himself. When he arrived, he found Minor locked in a book-lined cell at the Broadmoor Asylum for the Criminally insane.

    Murray and Minor became friends, sharing their love of words. Minor continued contributing to the dictionary, sending in more than 10,000 submissions in 20 years. Murray continued to visit Minor regularly, sometimes taking walks with him around the asylum grounds.

    In 1910, Minor left Broadmoor for an asylum in his native America. Murray was at the port to wave goodbye to his remarkable friend.

    Minor died in 1920, seven years before the first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary was completed. The 12 volumes defined 414,825 words, and thousands of them were contributions from a very scholarly and devoted asylum patient.

    Humans and many other mammals have unusually efficient internal temperature regulating systems that automatically maintain stable core body temperatures in cold winters and warm summers. In addition, people have developed cultural patterns and technologies that help them adjust to extremes of temperature and humidity (湿度).

In very cold climates, there is a constant danger of developing hypothermia, which is a life-threatening drop in core body temperature to below normal levels. The normal temperature for humans is about 37.0℃. However, differences in persons and even the time of day can cause it to be as much as 6℃ higher or lower in healthy individuals. It is also normal for core body temperature to be lower in elderly people. Hypothermia begins to occur when the core body temperature drops to 34.4℃. Below 29.4℃, the body cools more rapidly because its natural temperature regulating system usually fails. The rapid decline in core body temperature is likely to result in death. However, there have been rare cases in which people have been saved after their temperatures had dropped to 13.9-15.6℃. This happened in 1999 to a Swedish woman who was trapped under an ice sheet in freezing water for 80 minutes. She was found unconscious, not breathing, and her heart had stopped beating, yet she was eventually saved despite the fact that her temperature had dropped to 13.7℃.

In extremely hot climates or as a result of uncontrollable infections, core body temperatures can rise to equally dangerous levels. This is hyperthermia. Life-threatening hyperthermia typically starts in humans when their temperatures rise to 40.6-41.7℃. Only a few days at this extraordinarily high temperature level is likely to result in the worsening of internal organs and death.

    No one knew Prince Edward Street as well as Pierre Dupin. He had delivered milk to the families on the street for thirty years. For the past fifteen years a large white horse named Joseph pulled his milk wagon. Joseph was a gentle horse with beautiful spirit shining out of its eyes, so Pierre named him after Saint Joseph.

    Every morning at five, Pierre arrived at the milk company's stables to find Joseph waiting for him, Pierre would call, "Good morning, my old friend." as he climbed into his seat, while Joseph turned his head toward the driver. And the two would go proudly down the street. Without any order from Pierre, the wagon would roll down three streets. Then it turned right for two streets, before turning left to Saint Catherine Street. The horse finally stopped at the first house on Prince Edward Street. There, Joseph would wait perhaps thirty seconds for Pierre to get down off his seat and put a bottle of milk at the front door.

    Pierre knew every one of the forty families that got milk. The cooks knew that Pierre could not read or write; so, instead of leaving orders in an empty milk bottle, they simply sang out if they needed an extra bottle.

    Pierre also had a wonderful memory. When he arrived at the stable he always remembered to tell Jacques, the foreman(领班) of the stables, "The Pacquins took an extra bottle this morning; the Lemoines bought a pint of cream …" Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and collect the money. But Jacques, liking Pierre, never asked him to do this.

    One day the president of the milk company came to inspect the early morning milk deliveries. Jacques pointed to Pierre and said："See how the horse listens and how he turns his head toward Pierre? See the look in that horse's eyes? You know, I think those two share a secret. I have often felt it. He is getting old. Maybe he ought to be given a rest, and a small pension."

    "But of course," the president laughed. "He has been on this job now for thirty years. All who know him love him. Tell him it is time he rested. He will get his pay every week as before."

    But Pierre refused to leave his job. He said his life would be nothing if he could not drive Joseph every day. "We are two old men," he said to Jacques. "Let us wear out together. When Joseph is ready to leave, then I too will do so."

    Then one cold morning Jacques had terrible news for Pierre. Jacques said,"Pierre, your horse, Joseph, didn't wake up. He was very old, Pierre." Jacques said softly. "He is over in his stall, looking very peaceful. Go over and see him." Pierre took one step forward, then turned. "No … no … I cannot see Joseph again. You … you don't understand, Jacques."

    For years Pierre had worn a large heavy cap that came down low over his eyes. It kept out the bitter cold wind. Now, Jacques looked into Pierre's eyes and he saw something that shocked him. He saw a dead, lifeless look in them.

    "Take the day off, Pierre," Jacques said. Pierre walked to the corner and stepped into the street. There was a warning shout from the driver of a big truck … there was the screech(尖锐的刹车声) of rubber tires as the truck tried to stop. But Pierre heard nothing.

    Five minutes later a doctor said, "He's dead … killed instantly."

"I couldn't help it," the truck driver said. "He walked in front of my truck. He never saw it, I guess. Why, he walked as though he were blind."

    The doctor bent down. "Blind？Of course, this man has been blind for five years."  He turned to Jacques, "Didn't you know he was blind？"

    "No …no …" Jacques said softly. "None of us knew. Only one … only one knew－a friend of his, named Joseph … It was a secret, I think, just between those two."

    Unbelievable Stories of Animals Acting Just Like Humans

    Horses are picky eaters

    Horses have an even better sense of smell than humans do. When horses raise their noses and open their nostrils (鼻孔) , their nervous system allows them to sense smells we can't sense. This might explain why they refuse dirty water and carefully move around meadows, eating only the tastiest grasses, experts say.

    Whale says thanks

    In 2011, a whale expert spotted a humpback whale trapped in a fishing net and spent an hour freeing it. Afterward, in an hour-long display of thanks, the whale swam near their boat and leaped into the air about 40 times.

    Pandas like to be naughty

    Is there anything more lovely than a baby panda, except maybe a human baby? In fact, baby pandas sometimes behave like human babies. They sleep in the same positions and value their thumbs. Pandas are shy by nature for its shy behaviors such as covering its face with a paw of ducking its head when confronted by a stranger.

    A cat honors its owner

    Paper towels, and a plastic cup are just a few of the gifts that Toldo, a devoted three-year-old gray-and-white cat, has placed on his former owner Iozzelli Renzo's grave every day since the man died in September 2011. Renzo adopted Toldo from a shelter when the cat was three months old, and the two formed an inseparable bond. After Renzo passed away, Toldo followed the coffin to the cemetery, and now "stands guard" at the grave for hours at a time.

    I was 16 when my father finally decided he would send me to wilderness camp for several months. He had threatened to do it many times before, but my mother had always managed to prevent him from doing so. This ti me he insisted on doing it.

    The latest incident was the last straw. Impulsively (冲动地), I had pushed Mr. Ford, my math teacher, down a flight of steps at school. He broke his arm in two places. Anyway, he had agreed not to accuse me as a favor to my dad, who was in the middle of a tight race for sheriff (执法官) in our town. But my reckless behavior had my dad's closest advisor talking.

    "John, he's your son and he's a kid, but he is dragging you down," I heard Jake Hutch tell my dad through his closed office door the night after I pushed Mr. Ford. "If you can't make your son obey the rules, how can you make the law obeyed in this town?"

    So, off to Pisgah National Forest I went. I imagined hours of untold abuse at the hands of some strong sergeants (军士). I was determined not to be broken. I was who I was,

    Nearly every day for six months, a small group of other troubled teens and I carried our 30-pound backpacks on a difficult journey covering about 10 miles. We hiked in a rough wilderness that seemed untouched by civilization.

    Our sergeants were firm but kind, not frightening as I had imagined. We learned how to make a fire without matches and create a shelter with branches and grass. We learned which plants were safe to eat out in the wild. I felt myself change. I was calm and often reflective. My old, impulsive self was gone.

    One morning, six months later, my dad came to pick me up. I ran to hug him and saw happiness and love in his eyes.

    "So what's it like being sheriff?" I asked on the ride home.

    "I lost the race, Danny," he said.

    "I'm sorry, Dad." I knew my behavior probably had a lot to do with the defeat.

    Dad squeezed my shoulder and brought me close. "As long as I don't ever lose you, I'm okay."