Разработка внеклассного мероприятия "Живая классика на английском языке

“My Father»

by O.Moisseyenko.

“Who is your father, My little lad?”

“My father is a hero Of Stalingrad.

He fought for our country With-fearless heart,

Was brave in the battle When taking part.”

“My laddie, be worthy To have his name!”

“My father serves Russia, And I’ll do the same!

I’ll finish my school And, later, become

A soldier, like Father, And march to the drum!

Like him I’ll be brave and On duty I’ll stand

Proud of my people, My Motherland!

SPRING

Sound the flute! Now it's mute.

Birds delight Day and night;

Nightingale In the dale,

Lark in sky, Merrily,

Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.

Little boy, Full of joy;

Little girl, Sweet and small;

Cock does crow, So do you;

Merry voice, Infant noise,

Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.

Bed in Summer

By Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night

And dress by yellow candle-light.

In summer, quite the other way,

I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see

The birds still hopping on the tree,

Or hear the grown-up people's feet

Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,

When all the sky is clear and blue,

And I should like so much to play,

To have to go to bed by day?

Swing, swing

by William Allingham.

Swing, swing, Sing, sing,

Here’s my throne, and I am King!

Swing, sing, Swing, sing,

Farewell earth, for I’m on the wing!

Low, high, Here I fly,

Like a bird through sunny sky;

Free, free, Over the lea,

Over the mountain, over the sea!

She walks in Beauty – by Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win.the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Sonnet by Christina Rossetti

I wish I could remember that first day,

First hour, first moment of your meeting me,

If bright or dim the season, it might be

Summer or Winter for aught I can say;

So unrecorded did it slip away,

So blind was I to see and to foresee,

So dull to mark the budding of my tree

That would not blossom yet for many a May.

If only I could recollect it, such

A day of days! I let it come and go

As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;

It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;

If only now I could recall that touch,

First touch of hand in hand - Did one* but know!

London – by William Blake

I wander thro' each charter'd street.

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls,

And the hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

The Smile. William Blake.

There is a smile of love,

And there is a smile of deceit,

And there is a smile of smiles

In which these two smiles meet;

And there is a frown of hate,

And there is a frown of disdain,

And there is a frown of frowns

Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart's deep core,

And it sticks in the deep back bone,

And no smile that ever was smil'd,

But only one smile alone

That betwixt the cradle and grave

It only once smil'd can be,

But when it once is smil'd,

There's an end to all misery.

A POISON TREE Уильям Блейк

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright;

And my foe behold it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole

When the night had veil'd the pole:

In the morning glad I see

My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

Invictus by WilliamErnestHenley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

The Land Of Dreams by W.Blake

Awake, awake, my little boy!

Thou wast thy mother's only joy;

Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?

Awake! thy father does thee keep.

'O, what land is the Land of Dreams?

What are its mountains, and what are its streams?

O father! I saw my mother there,

Among the lilies by waters fair.

'Among the lambs, clothed in white,

She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight.

I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;

O! when shall I again return?'

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams

Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams;

But tho' calm and warm the waters wide, -

I could not get to the other side.

'Father, О father! what do we here

In this land of unbelief and fear?

The Land of Dreams is better far,

Above the light of the morning star.'

Mona Lisa

Brenda M. Weber

Behind kaleidoscopic eyes

There’s no mystery there that lies.

She’s the one to see it all

From her position on the wall.

We look for something in her smile,

We stand to study her a while,

Her face of beauty that we seek.

What would she say if she could speak?

Is her beauty, oh, so rare?

Was Mona Lisa just a maiden fair?

Is she a mirror image of me?

Is that what I’m supposed to see?

Mona’s portrait on the wall –

A combination of us all.

There’s a touch of someone there

In the beauty of her hair.

That hint of prison in her eyes

Makes her appear to be so wise.

The playful curvature of her lip

On her cheeks can dance a quip.

She’s a beauty this Mona Lisa

But so is the leaning Tower of Pisa.

What is the mystery there that lies

Behind kaleidoscopic eyes?

The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And look down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

A CRADLE SONG (by William Blake)

Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,

Dreaming o'er the joys of night;

Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep

Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet Babe, in thy face

Soft desires I can trace,

Secret joys and secret smiles,

Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,

Smiles as of the morning steal

O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast

Where thy little heart does rest.

O! the cunning wiles that creep

In thy little heart asleep.

When thy little heart does wake

Then the dreadful lightnings break,

From thy cheek and from thy eye,

O'er the youthful harvests nigh.

Infant wiles and infant smiles

Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.