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Англ. яз. (7-8 кл)
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:46 | Сообщение # 1 |
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РедьярдКиплинг. If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:46 | Сообщение # 2 |
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:46 | Сообщение # 3 |
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WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL
When I was a little girl,
About seven years old,
I hadn`t got a petticoat,
To keep me from the cold,
So I went to Darlington,
That pretty little town,
And there I bought a petticoat,
A cloak and a gown.
I went into the woods
And built me a kirk,
And all of the birds of the air,
They helped me to work.
The hawk ,with his long claws,
Pulled down the stone,
The dove, with her rough bill,
Brought me them home.
The parrot was the clergy man,
The peacock was the clerk,
The bulfinch played the organ,
And we made merry work.
From Mother Goose Rhymes
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:46 | Сообщение # 4 |
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Rudyard Kipling
Six serving men
I Keep six honest serving-men:
(They taught me all I knew)
Their names are What and Where and When
And How and Why and Who
I send them over land and sea,
I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
I give them all a rest.
I let them rest from nine till five.
For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
For they are hungry men:
But different folk have different views:
I know a person small -
She keeps ten million serving-men,
Who get no rest at all!
She sends them abroad on her own affairs,
From the second she opens her eyes -
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
And seven million Whys!
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:47 | Сообщение # 5 |
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Punctuality
Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.
Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.
And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.
If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest
Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:47 | Сообщение # 6 |
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Grammar Rhymes
A noun is the name of anything
As school, garden or king
Adjectives tell the kind of noun
As great, small, pretty, white or brown.
Instead of nouns the pronoun is,
As mine, yours, our and his.
Verbs tell of something being done-
To read, count, laugh, carry or run.
How things are done the adverbs tell
As slowly, quickly, ill or well.
Conjunctions join the words together
As men and women, wind and weather.
The prepositions stands before
A noun as in or through a door.
The interjection shows surprise,
As – oh! How pretty! Oh! How wise!
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:47 | Сообщение # 7 |
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Emily Jane Brontë
HOPE
Hope was but a timing friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tent,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
Are was cruel in her fear;
Trought the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, fals watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping,
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:48 | Сообщение # 8 |
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9. THE WIND TAPPED LIKE A TIRED MAN
The wind tapped like a tired man,
And like a host, "Come in,"
I boldly answered; entered then
My residence within
A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
A sofa to the air.
No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous humming-birds at once
From a superior bush.
His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.
He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped--'t was flurriedly--
And I became alone.
(Emily Dickinson)
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:48 | Сообщение # 9 |
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THE WINDOW
You are my bread
And the hairline noise
Of my bones
You are almost the sea
You are not stone
Or molten sound
I think
You have no hands
This kind of bird flies backwards
And this love
Breaks on a windowpane
Where no light talks
This is not the time
For crossing tongues
The sand here
Never shifts
I think
Tomorrow turned you with his toe
And you will shine and shine
Unspent and underground
(Diane Di Prima)
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:48 | Сообщение # 10 |
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9. COME IN
As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music-hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.
Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.
The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush's breast.
Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went-
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.
But no, I was out for stars:
I would not come in.
1 meant not even if asked,
And I hadn't been.
(Robert Frost)
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:49 | Сообщение # 11 |
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Нow the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr Seuss
He stared down at Whoville! The Grinch popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”
“It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!”
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.”
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”
And what happened then? Well…in Whoville they say,
That the Grinch’s small heart Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light,
And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!
And he, HE HIMSELF! The Grinch carved the roast beast
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:49 | Сообщение # 12 |
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Нow the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr Seuss
Every Who Down in Whoville Liked Christmas a lot…
But the Grinch, Who lived just north of Whoville, Did NOT!
The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
Whatever the reason, His heart or his shoes,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown,
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Who down in Whoville beneath,
Was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.
“And they’re hanging their stockings!” he snarled with a sneer,
“Tomorrow is Christmas! It’s practically here!”
Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,
“I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!”
For Tomorrow, he knew, all the Who girls and boys,
Would wake bright and early. They’d rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise!
Noise! Noise! Noise!
That’s one thing he hated! The NOISE!
NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:49 | Сообщение # 13 |
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9. Robert Louis Stevenson "Foreign lands"
Up into the cherry tree
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad in foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie,
Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass
And be the sky's blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
With people tramping in to town.
If I could find a higher tree
Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
Into the sea among the ships,
To where the road on either hand
Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
And all the playthings come alive.
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:49 | Сообщение # 14 |
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Sergey Yesenin
Translated from the Russian
By Alec Vagapov
I’m back at home. My dear land
Is pensive, spreading all around!
The twilight waves its snow-white hand
To greet me from beyond the mound.
The grizzle of the gloomy day
Is floating by over my home, and
The evening fills me with dismay
Like insurmountable torment.
Above the church, over the dome,
The sunset shade has fallen down.
My dear friends, I’m back at home,
And won’t be seeing you around.
The years have flown like a whirl,
And where are you, my friends, I wonder?
All I can hear is the purl
Of water by the mill-house yonder.
And often, sitting by the hearth,
To sound of sedge crack, or whatever,
I pray to steaming mother earth
For those who’re gone and lost for ever.
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:49 | Сообщение # 15 |
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Текст стихотворения:
R.L. Stevenson
GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN
Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately.
You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewildering,
Innocent and honest children.
Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places--
That was how in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages.
But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory--
Theirs is quite a different story
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:50 | Сообщение # 16 |
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Текст стихотворения:
Э.В. Киншакова, т.В. Кузнецова "Поем и говорим по-английски"
The months of the year
My school teacher often asks:
"Do you know the winter months?"
I say: "December, January
And the third is February."
My school teacher often asks:
"Do you know the spring months?"
"March and April," I will say
And the third - you know - May.
My school teacher often asks:
"Do you know the summer months?"
June, July and I have thought
August is, of course, the third.
My school teacher often asks:
"Do you know the autumn months?"
In September school begins,
In October - golden leaves.
In November you can say:
"What a nasty, rainy day!"
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:50 | Сообщение # 17 |
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Roadways.
One road leads to London,
One road runs to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.
One road leads to the river
As it goes singing slow,
My road leads to shipping
Where the bronzed sailors go.
Leads me,luresme,calls me
To salt green tossing sea;
A road without earth’s road-dust
Is the right road for me.
A wet road heaving,shining,
A wild with seagulls’ cries,
A mad salt sea-wind blowing
To salt spray in my eyes.
My road calls me,lures me
West,east,south and north.
Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me forth.
( John Masefield)
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:50 | Сообщение # 18 |
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The Lords of Life
The lords of life, the lords of life,-
I saw them pass,
In their own guise,
Like and unlike,
Portly and grim,
Use and Surprise,
Surface and Dream,
Succession swift, and spectral Wrong,
Temperament without a tongue,
And the inventor of the game
Omnipresent without name;-
Some to see, some to be guessed,
They marched from east to west:
Little man, least of all,
Among the legs of his guardians tall,
Walked about with puzzled look:-
Him by the hand dear nature took;
Dearest nature, strong and kind,
Whispered, 'Darling, never mind!
Tomorrow they will wear another face,
The founder thou! these are thy race!'
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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| Администратор | Дата: Среда, 09.10.2013, 22:50 | Сообщение # 19 |
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Brother And Sister
"Sister, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.
"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.
"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as kill a moth"
The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"
Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."
And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."
"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"
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