As I usually do lessons Lessons I usually do in the evening. Some guys I know, doing homework right after school: come, have lunch, with half an hour to rest and enjoy the lessons. Maybe you need to do. Maybe even correct - quickly shut of him and almost the entire day is free. But I have not enough willpower to a routine. For me to study too hard. I do otherwise. First, as soon as I come from the school, I have dinner. Then I sit at my computer and do anything depending on the mood: I play computer games, surf the Internet or learn some new program. And just before the coming of the parents I sit down at my lessons. I start most often with difficult subjects - mathematics and Russian language. Perform written tasks, and then cook oral. After difficult subjects I rest awhile to watch some TV show or listen to a new CD. Then I sit down at the oral lessons: preparing for the history, literature and other subjects. When asked poems by heart, I try to teach them not for one night, several days in a row. I long ago realized that one night is not always possible to learn a poem well as Troika receive no big desire
She Walks In Beauty like the night (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 mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired 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!Она идет во всей красе Светла, как ночь ее страны. Вся глубь небес и звезды все В ее очах заключены, Как солнце в утренней росе, Но только мраком смягчены.Прибавить луч иль тень отнять И будет уж совсем не та Волос агатовая прядь, Не те глаза, не те уста И лоб, где помыслов печать Так безупречна, так чиста.А этот взгляд, и цвет ланит, И легкий смех, как всплеск морской, Все в ней о мире говорит. Она в душе хранит покой И если счастье подарит, То самой щедрою рукой!(Перевод Маршак С. Я.)
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired 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!Она идет во всей красе
Светла, как ночь ее страны.
Вся глубь небес и звезды все
В ее очах заключены,
Как солнце в утренней росе,
Но только мраком смягчены.Прибавить луч иль тень отнять
И будет уж совсем не та
Волос агатовая прядь,
Не те глаза, не те уста
И лоб, где помыслов печать
Так безупречна, так чиста.А этот взгляд, и цвет ланит,
И легкий смех, как всплеск морской,
Все в ней о мире говорит.
Она в душе хранит покой
И если счастье подарит,
То самой щедрою рукой!(Перевод Маршак С. Я.)