INokentiy228

06.04.2020 21:53 •  Английский язык

Переведите текст: * только можно не через переводчик, а в художественном стиле более менее? milne was born in london in 1882. he studied mathematics at trinity college at cambridge university, but his dream was to become a writer. he began his writing career when he was still at college, being published in the school magazine, the granta. later he became the editor of this magazine. after graduating he got the position of assistant editor in the punch magazine. he got married in 1913. his wife’s name was dorothy, and her home nickname was daphne. they became the parents of christopher robin milne in 1920. it was daphne that suggested to her husband that he write children’s stories about their son’s toy animals. the first book had the title when we were very young. it was published in 1924. winnie-the-pooh followed in 1926. in 1927 now we are six was published, and then the last of the pooh books, the house at pooh corner, came in 1928. milne wrote many literary works; among them are detective stories and very successful plays. but he obtained the world’s fame due to his children’s stories. he could never understand the fact. one of his poems is as follows: if a writer, why not write on whatever comes in sight? so —the children’s books: a short intermezzo of a sort; when i wrote them, little thinking all my years of pen and inking would be almost lost among those four trifles for the young. here are two poems from milne’s book about winnie-the-pooh, which made him so popular: how sweet to be a cloud floating in the blue! every little cloud always sings aloud. how sweet to be a cloud floating in the blue! it makes him very proud to be a little cloud. 226 lines written by a bear of very little brain on monday, when the sun is hot i wonder to myself a lot: now is it true, or is it not, that what is which, and which is what? on tuesday, when it hails and snows the feeling on me grows and grows that hardly anybody knows if those are these or these are those. on wednesday, when the sky is blue, and 1 have nothing else to do, 1 sometimes wonder if it’s true that who is what and what is who. on thursday, when it starts to freeze and hoarfrost twinkles on the trees, how very readily one sees that these are whose — but whose are these? “but it isn’t easy,” said pooh to himself “because poetry and hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you. and all you can do is go where they can find you.”