lunes, 11 de abril de 2022

King Grisly-Beard - Brothers Grimm - Cuento en inglés

king grisly beard

Recursos Educativos en Inglés - Stories in English - Cuentos clásicos en Inglés

King Grisly-Beard - Brothers Grimm

A great king of a land far away in the East had a daughter who was very beautiful, but so proud and haughty and conceited, that none of the princes who came to ask for her hand in marriage was good enough for her. All she ever did was make fun of them.

     Once upon a time the king held a great feast and invited all her suitors. They all sat in a row, ranged according to their rank -- kings and princes and dukes and earls and counts and barons and knights. When the princess came in, as she passed by them, she had something spiteful to say to each one.

     The first was too fat: 'He's as round as a tub,' she said.

     The next was too tall: 'What a maypole!' she said.

     The next was too short: 'What a dumpling!' she said.

     The fourth was too pale, and she called him 'Wallface.'

     The fifth was too red, so she called him 'Coxcomb.'

     The sixth was not straight enough; so she said he was like a green stick that had been laid to dry over a baker's oven. She had some joke to crack about every one. But she laughed most of all at a good king who was there.

     'Look at him,' she said; 'his beard is like an old mop; he shall be called Grisly-beard.' So the king got the nickname of Grisly-beard.

     But the old king was very angry when he saw how his daughter behaved and how badly she treated all his guests. He vowed that, willing or unwilling, she would marry the first man that came to the door.

     Two days later a travelling fiddler came by the castle. He began to play under the window and begged for money and when the king heard him, he said, 'Let him come in.'

  So, they brought the dirty-looking fellow in and, when he had sung before the king and the princess, he begged for a gift.

     The king said, 'You have sung so well that I will give you my daughter to take as your wife.'

     The princess begged and prayed; but the king said, 'I have sworn to give you to the first man who came to the door, and I will keep my word.'

     Words and tears were to no avail; the parson was sent for, and she was married to the fiddler.

     When this was over, the king said, 'Now get ready to leave -- you must not stay here -- you must travel with your husband.'

     So the fiddler left the castle, and took the princess with him.

     Soon they came to a great wood.

     'Pray,' she said, 'whose is this wood?'

     'It belongs to King Grisly-beard,' he answered; 'hadst thou taken him, all would have been thine.'

     'Ah! unlucky wretch that I am!' she sighed; 'would that I had married King Grisly-beard!'

     Next they came to some fine meadows.

     'Whose are these beautiful green meadows?' she said.

     'They belong to King Grisly-beard, hadst thou taken him, they would all have been thine.'

     'Ah! unlucky wretch that I am!' she said; 'would that I had married King Grisly-beard!'

     Then they came to a great city. 'Whose is this noble city?' she said.

     'It belongs to King Grisly-beard; hadst thou taken him, it would all have been thine.'

   'Ah! wretch that I am!' she sighed; 'why did I not marry King Grisly-beard?'

     'That is no business of mine,' said the fiddler, 'why should you wish for another husband? Am I not good enough for you?'

     At last they came to a small cottage. 'What a paltry place!' she said; 'to whom does that little dirty hole belong?'

     The fiddler said, 'That is your and my house, where we are to live.'

     'Where are your servants?' she cried.

     'What do we want with servants?' he said; 'you must do for yourself whatever is to be done. Now make the fire, and put on water and cook my supper, for I am very tired.'

     But the princess knew nothing of making fires and cooking, and the fiddler was forced to help her.

     When they had eaten a very scanty meal they went to bed; but the fiddler called her up very early in the morning to clean the house.

     They lived like that for two days and when they had eaten up all there was in the cottage, the man said, 'Wife, we can't go on thus, spending money and earning nothing. You must learn to weave baskets.'

     Then the fiddler went out and cut willows, and brought them home, and she began to weave; but it made her fingers very sore.

     'I see this work won't do,' he said, 'try and spin; perhaps you will do that better.'

     So she sat down and tried to spin; but the threads cut her tender fingers until the blood ran.

     'See now,' said the fiddler, 'you are good for nothing; you can do no work. What a bargain I have got! However, I'll try and set up a trade in pots and pans, and you shall stand in the market and sell them.'

  'Alas!' she sighed, 'if any of my father's court should pass by and see me standing in the market, how they will laugh at me!'

     But her husband did not care about that, and said she would have to work if she did not want to die of hunger.

     At first the trade went well because many people, seeing such a beautiful woman, went to buy her wares and paid their money without even thinking of taking away the goods. They lived on this as long as it lasted and then her husband bought a fresh lot of pots and pans, and she sat herself down with it in the corner of the market.

     However, soon a drunken soldier soon came by and rode his horse against her stall and broke all her goods into a thousand pieces.

     She began to cry, and did not know what to do. 'Ah! what will become of me?' she said; 'what will my husband say?' So she ran home and told him everything.

     'Who would have thought you would have been so silly,' he said, 'as to put an earthenware stall in the corner of the market, where everybody passes? But let us have no more crying; I see you are not fit for this sort of work, so I have been to the king's palace, and asked if they did not want a kitchen-maid; and they say they will take you, and there you will have plenty to eat.'

     So the princess became a kitchen-maid and helped the cook to do all the dirtiest work. She was allowed to carry home some of the meat that was left over, and they lived on that.

     She had not been there long before she heard that the king's eldest son was passing by, on his way to get married. She went to one of the windows and looked out. Everything was ready and all the pomp and brightness of the court was there. Seeing it, she grieved bitterly for the pride and folly that had brought her so low. The servants gave her some of the rich meats and she put them into her basket to take home.

All of a sudden, as she was leaving, in came the king's son in his golden clothes. When he saw such a beautiful woman at the door, he took her by the hand and said she should be his partner in the dance. She trembled with fear because she saw that it was King Grisly-beard, who was making fun of her. However, he kept hold of her, and led her into the hall. As she entered, the cover of the basket came off, and the meats in it fell out. Everybody laughed and jeered at her and she was so ashamed that she wished she were a thousand feet deep in the earth. She sprang over to the door so that she could run away but on the steps King Grisly-beard overtook her, brought her back and said:

     'Fear me not! I am the fiddler who has lived with you in the hut. I brought you there because I truly loved you. I am also the soldier that overset your stall. I have done all this only to cure you of your silly pride, and to show you the folly of your ill-treatment of me. Now it is all over: you have learnt wisdom, and it is time to hold our marriage feast.'

     Then the chamberlains came and brought her the most beautiful robes. Her father and his whole court were already there, and they welcomed her home. Joy was in every face and every heart. The feast was grand; they danced and sang; everyone was merry; and I only wish that you and I had been there.

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sábado, 9 de abril de 2022

Poems Of Ernest Hemingway - Poemas en inglés

ernest hemingway

Recursos Educativos en Inglés - Poems in English - Poesías en inglés

 

Advice To A Son - Ernest Hemingway

Never trust a white man,
Never kill a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.

Don't enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don't believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry whores.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you'll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky.

Along With Youth - Ernest Hemingway

A porcupine skin,
Stiff with bad tanning,
It must have ended somewhere.
Stuffed horned owl
Pompous
Yellow eyed;
Chuck-wills-widow on a biased twig
Sooted with dust.
Piles of old magazines,
Drawers of boy's letters
And the line of love
They must have ended somewhere.
Yesterday's Tribune is gone
Along with youth
And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach
The year of the big storm
When the hotel burned down
At Seney, Michigan.

The Age Demanded - Ernest Hemingway

The age demanded that we sing
And cut away our tongue.

The age demanded that we flow
And hammered in the bung.

The age demanded that we dance
And jammed us into iron pants.

And in the end the age was handed
The sort of shit that it demanded.

Captives - Ernest Hemingway

Some came in chains
Unrepentant but tired.
Too tired but to stumble.
Thinking and hating were finished
Thinking and fighting were finished
Retreating and hoping were finished.
Cures thus a long campaign,
Making death easy.

I Like Canadians - Ernest Hemingway

I like Canadians.
They are so unlike Americans.
They go home at night.
Their cigarettes don't smell bad.
Their hats fit.
They really believe that they won the war.
They don't believe in Literature.
They think Art has been exaggerated.
But they are wonderful on ice skates.
A few of them are very rich.
But when they are rich they buy more horses
Than motor cars.
Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town.
But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal
In Chicago.
Nobody works on Sunday.
Nobody.
That doesn't make me mad.
There is only one Woodbine.
But were you ever at Blue Bonnets?
If you kill somebody with a motor car in Ontario
You are liable to go to jail.
So it isn't done.
There have been over 500 people killed by motor cars
In Chicago
So far this year.
It is hard to get rich in Canada.
But it is easy to make money.
There are too many tea rooms.
But, then, there are no cabarets.
If you tip a waiter a quarter
He says 'Thank you.'
Instead of calling the bouncer.
They let women stand up in the street cars.
Even if they are good-looking.
They are all in a hurry to get home to supper
And their radio sets.
They are a fine people.
I like them.

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Poems Of Angela Morgan - Poemas en inglés

angela morgan

Recursos Educativos en Inglés - Poems in English - Poesías en inglés

God The Artist - Angela Morgan

God, when you thought of a pine tree,
How did you think of a star?
How did you dream of the Milky Way
To guide us from afar.
How did you think of a clean brown pool
Where flecks of shadows are?

God, when you thought of a cobweb,
How did you think of dew?
How did you know a spider's house
Had shingles bright and new?
How did you know the human folk
Would love them like they do?

God, when you patterned a bird song,
Flung on a silver string,
How did you know the ecstasy
That crystal call would bring?
How did you think of a bubbling throat
And a darling speckled wing?

God, when you chiseled a raindrop,
How did you think of a stem,
Bearing a lovely satin leaf
To hold the tiny gem?
How did you know a million drops
Would deck the morning's hem?

Why did you mate the moonlit night
With the honeysuckle vines?
How did you know Madeira bloom
Distilled ecstatic wines?
How did you weave the velvet disk
Where tangled perfumes are?
God, when you thought of a pine tree,
How did you think of a star?

In Spite of War - Angela Morgan

In spite of war, in spite of death,
In spite of all man's sufferings,
Something within me laughs and sings
And I must praise with all my breath.
In spite of war, in spite of hate
Lilacs are blooming at my gate,
Tulips are tripping down the path
In spite of war, in spite of wrath.
"Courage!" the morning-glory saith;
"Rejoice!" the daisy murmureth,
And just to live is so divine
When pansies lift their eyes to mine.

The clouds are romping with the sea,
And flashing waves call back to me
That naught is real but what is fair,
That everywhere and everywhere
A glory liveth through despair.
Though guns may roar and cannon boom,
Roses are born and gardens bloom;
My spirit still may light its flame
At that same torch whence poppies came.
Where morning's altar whitely burns
Lilies may lift their silver urns
In spite of war, in spite of shame.

And in my ear a whispering breath,
"Wake from the nightmare! Look and see
That life is naught but ecstasy
In spite of war, in spite of death!"

Choice - Angela Morgan

I'd rather have the thought of you
To hold against my heart,
My spirit to be taught of you
With west winds blowing,
Than all the warm caresses
Of another love's bestowing,
Or all the glories of the world
In which you had no part.

I'd rather have the theme of you
To thread my nights and days,
I'd rather have the dream of you
With faint stars glowing,
I'd rather have the want of you,
The rich, elusive taunt of you
Forever and forever and forever unconfessed
Than claim the alien comfort
Of any other's breast.

O lover! O my lover,
That this should come to me!
I'd rather have the hope of you,
Ah, Love, I'd rather grope for you
Within the great abyss
Than claim another's kiss-
Alone I'd rather go my way
Throughout eternity.

When Nature Wants A Man - Angela Morgan

When Nature wants to drill a man
And thrill a man,
And skill a man,
When Nature wants to mould a man
To play the noblest part;
When she yearns with all her heart
To create so great and bold a man
That all the world shall praise-

Watch her method, watch her ways!
How she ruthlessly perfects
Whom she royally elects;
How she hammers him and hurts him
And with mighty blows converts him
Into trial shapes of clay which only Nature understands-

While his tortured heart is crying and he lifts beseeching hands! -
How she bends, but never breaks,
When his good she undertakes....
How she uses whom she chooses
And with every purpose fuses him,
By every art induces him
To try his splendor out-
Nature knows what she's about.

When Nature wants to take a man
And shake a man
And wake a man;
When Nature wants to make a man
To do the Future's will;
When she tries with all her skill
And she yearns with all her soul
To create him large and whole....
With what cunning she prepares him!

How she goads and never spares him,
How she whets him and she frets him
And in poverty begets him....
How she often disappoints
Whom she sacredly anoints,
With what wisdom she will hide him,
Never minding what betide him
Though his genius sob with slighting and his pride may not forget!
Bids him struggle harder yet.
Makes him lonely
So that only
God's high messages shall reach him
So that she may surely teach him
What the Hierarchy planned.

Though he may not understand
Gives him passions to command-
How remorselessly she spurs him,
With terrific ardor stirs him
When she poignantly prefers him!

When Nature wants to name a man
And fame a man
And tame a man;
When Nature wants to shame a man
To do his heavenly best....
When she tries the highest test
That her reckoning may bring-
When she wants a god or king! -
How she reins him and restrains him
So his body scarce contains him
While she fires him
And inspires him!
Keeps him yearning, ever burning for a tantalising goal-
Lures and lacerates his soul.
Sets a challenge for his spirit,
Draws it higher when he's near it-
Makes a jungle, that he clear it;
Makes a desert, that he fear it
And subdue it if he can-
So doth Nature make a man.

Then, to test his spirit's wrath
Hurls a mountain in his path-
Puts a bitter choice before him
And relentlessly stands o'er him.
'Climb, or perish! ' so she says....
Watch her purpose, watch her ways!

Nature's plan is wondrous kind
Could we understand her mind...
Fools are they who call her blind.
When his feet are torn and bleeding
Yet his spirit mounts unheeding,
All his higher powers speeding
Blazing newer paths and fine;
When the force that is divine
Leaps to challenge every failure and his ardor still is sweet
And love and hope are burning in the presence of defeat....

Lo, the crisis! Lo, the shout
That must call the leader out.
When the people need salvation
Doth he come to lead the nation....
Then doth Nature show her plan
When the world has found- a man!

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Poems Of John Keats - Poemas en inglés

john keats

Recursos Educativos en Inglés - Poems in English - Poesías en inglés

To Autumn - John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

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jueves, 7 de abril de 2022

The Bunny Hokey Pokey - Easter Songs for Kids

The Bunny Hokey Pokey - Easter Songs for Kids - Canciones para Niños en Inglés

Canciones para Niños en Inglés: Pascua, Semana santa - Songs for Children in English: Easter

The Bunny Hokey Pokey

You put your bunny ears in
You put your bunny ears out.
You put your bunny ears in.
And you shake them all about.
You do the Bunny Pokey
And hop yourself around,
That’s what it’s all about!

Happy Easter Day.

Recursos en inglés para Pascua Semana Santa ⇓

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Here Comes Peter Cottontail - Easter Songs for Kids

Here Comes Peter Cottontail - Easter Songs for Kids - Canciones para Niños en Inglés

Canciones para Niños en Inglés: Pascua, Semana santa - Songs for Children in English: Easter

Here Comes Peter Cottontail

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin’ down the bunny trail,
Hippity hoppity,
Easter’s on its way
Bringin’ ev’ry girl and boy
A basketful of Easter joy
Things to make your Easter
Bright and gay
He’s got jelly beans for Tommy
Colored eggs for sister Sue
There’s an orchid for your mommy
And an Easter bonnet too. Oh!
Here’ comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin’ down the bunny trail
Hippity hoppity
Happy Easter Day
Look at him hop and listen to him say,
“Try to do the things you should”
Maybe if you’re extra good
He’ll roll lots of Easter eggs your way
You’ll wake up on Easter morning
And you’ll know that he was there
When you find those choc’late bunnies That he’s hiding ev’rywhere, Oh!
Here’ comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin’ down the bunny trail
Hippity hoppity

Happy Easter Day.

Recursos en inglés para Pascua Semana Santa ⇓

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Easter Parade - Easter Songs for Kids

Easter Parade - Easter Songs for Kids - Canciones para Niños en Inglés

Canciones para Niños en Inglés: Pascua, Semana santa - Songs for Children in English: Easter

Easter Parade

In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it,
You’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter Parade.
I’ll be all in clover and when they look you over,
I’ll be the proudest fellow in the Easter Parade.
On the avenue, Fifth Avenue, the photographers will snap us,
And you’ll find that you’re in the rotogravure.
Oh, I could write a sonnet about your Easter bonnet,
And of the girl, I’m taking to the Easter Parade.

Happy Easter Day.

Recursos en inglés para Pascua Semana Santa ⇓

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