我的任务, 多年以来，是培养英语口语能力。而我认为口语练好的前提是读好。下面是新概念英语第二册第一课文和林肯讲话。我尝试用了7个人工智能给我的朗读打分，1-10。最好的成绩9, 最差7分。如果你的分数比我高，我需要请教你如何作到的？我无比佩服！

A Private Conversation 

A young man and a young woman were sitting behind me.

They were talking loudly.

I tried not to pay attention.

I turned my head away.

But they kept speaking.

I became angry.

In the end, I turned around.

“I can’t hear the actors,” I said.

“Could you please be quiet?”

The young man looked at me.

He didn’t apologize.

“It’s none of your business,” he said.

“This is a private conversation.”

The Gettysburg Address

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Mother — by Rabindranath Tagore

I cannot remember my mother,

only sometimes,

in the midst of my play,

a tune seems to hover

over my playthings—

the tune of some song

that she used to hum

while rocking my cradle.

I cannot remember my mother,

but when in the early autumn morning

the smell of the shiuli flowers

floats in the air,

the scent of the morning service

in the temple

comes to me

as the scent of my mother.

I cannot remember my mother,

only when

from my bedroom window

I send my eyes

into the blue

of the distant sky,

I feel that the stillness

of my mother’s gaze

on my face

has spread

all over the sky.