安徒生童話:The Neighbouring Families 鄰居們

NE would have thought that something important was going on in the duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the ducks lying quietly on the water or standing on their heads in it—for they could do that—at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feet were seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide. The water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smooth as a mirror, became very troubled. Before, every tree, every neighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof and the swallows’ nest, and especially the great rose-bush full of flowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the wall and hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in a picture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the water was troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. Two feathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down; suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it did not come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quiet and smooth. The roses were again reflected; they were very beautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. The sun shone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth the loveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joy at the thought of our happiness.

“How beautiful existence is!” said each rose. “The only thing that I wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because it is so warm and bright. I should also like to kiss those roses down in the water, which are so much like us, and the pretty little birds down in the nest. There are some up above too; they put out their heads and pipe softly; they have no feathers like their father and mother. We have good neighbours, both below and above. How beautiful existence is!”

The young ones above and below—those below were really only shadows in the water—were sparrows; their parents were sparrows too, and had taken possession of the empty swallows’ nest of last year, and now lived in it as if it were their own property.

“Are those the duck’s children swimming here?” asked the young sparrows when they saw the feathers on the water.

“If you must ask questions, ask sensible ones,” said their mother. “Don’t you see that they are feathers, such as I wear and you will wear too? But ours are finer. Still, I should like to have them up in the nest, for they keep one warm. I am very curious to know what the ducks were so startled about; not about us, certainly, although I did say ‘peep’ to you pretty loudly. The thick-headed roses ought to know why, but they know nothing at all; they only look at themselves and smell. I am heartily tired of such neighbours.”

“Listen to the dear little birds up there,” said the roses; “they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to manage it yet. But it will soon come. What a pleasure that must be! It is fine to have such cheerful neighbours.”

Suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. A peasant boy rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his large broad black hat. The boy whistled like a bird, and rode into the pond where it was deepest, and as he passed the rose-bush he plucked a rose and stuck it in his hat. Now he looked dressed, and rode on. The other roses looked after their sister, and asked each other, “Where can she be going to?” But none of them knew.

“I should like to go out into the world for once,” said one; “but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. The whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night the sky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all the little holes in it.”

They meant the stars, but they knew no better.

“We make it lively about the house,” said the sparrow-mother; “and people say that a swallows’ nest brings luck; so they are glad of us. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like that causes damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall, perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothing but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a hat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off. The farmer’s wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they get a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and are put into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that’s their life; they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know.”

In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warm air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that the beautiful lived for ever. The roses thought that the nightingale was singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed; they had no idea that the song was about them. But they were very pleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows could become nightingales.

“I understand the song of that bird very well,” said the young sparrows. “There was only one word that was not clear to me. What does ‘the beautiful’ mean?”

“Nothing at all,” answered their mother; “that’s only something external. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have their own house, and corn and peas are strewn before them every day—I have dined with them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me what company you keep and I’ll tell you who you are—up at the Hall they have two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can spread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright with various colours that it makes one’s eyes ache. These birds are called peacocks, and that is ‘the beautiful.’ If they were only plucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. I would have plucked them already if they had not been so big.”

“I’ll pluck them,” piped the young sparrow, who had no feathers yet.

In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved each other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in their home looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came down early, plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into a glass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard.

“Now I see that it is Sunday,” said the husband, kissing his little wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held each other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses and upon them.

“This sight is really too tedious,” said the sparrow-mother, who could see into the room from her nest; and she flew away.

The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for every Sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush bloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had feathers, and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allow it, and so they had to stay at home. In one of her flights, however it may have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in a horse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. The horse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg—as tightly as if the latter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. The boys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.

“It’s only a sparrow,” they said; they did not, however, let her go, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit her on the beak.

In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap into cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a merry old man, always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow which the boys had brought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, “Shall we make it look very pretty?”

At these words an icy shudder ran through the sparrow-mother.

Out of his box, in which were the most beautiful colours, the old man took a quantity of shining leaf-gold, while the boys had to go and fetch some white of egg, with which the sparrow was to be smeared all over; the gold was stuck on to this, and the sparrow-mother was now gilded all over. But she, trembling in every limb, did not think of the adornment. Then the soap-man tore off a small piece from the red lining of his old jacket, and cutting it so as to make it look like a cock’s comb, he stuck it to the bird’s head.

“Now you will see the gold-jacket fly,” said the old man, letting the sparrow go, which flew away in deadly fear, with the sun shining upon her. How she glittered! All the sparrows, and even a crow—and an old boy he was too—were startled at the sight; but still they flew after her to learn what kind of strange bird she was.

Driven by fear and horror, she flew homeward; she was almost sinking fainting to the earth, while the flock of pursuing birds increased, some even attempting to peck at her.

“Look at her! Look at her!” they all cried.

“Look at her! Look at her” cried her little ones. as she approached the nest. “That is certainly a young peacock, for it glitters in all colours; it makes one’s eyes ache, as mother told us. Peep! that’s ‘the beautiful’.” And then they pecked at the bird with their little beaks so that it was impossible for her to get into the nest; she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even say “Peep!” much less “I am your own mother!” The other birds, too, now fell upon the sparrow and plucked off feather after feather until she fell bleeding into the rose-bush.

“Poor creature!” said all the roses; “only be still, and we will hide you. Lean your little head against us.”

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them closely to her, and lay dead near the neighbouring family, the beautiful fresh roses.

“Peep!” sounded from the nest. “Where can mother be so long? It’s more than I can understand. It cannot be a trick of hers, and mean that we are now to take care of ourselves. She has left us the house as an inheritance; but to which of us is it to belong when we have families of our own?”

“Yes, it won’t do for you to stay with me when I increase my household with a wife and children,” said the smallest.

“I daresay I shall have more wives and children than you,” said the second.

“But I am the eldest!” exclaimed the third. Then they all got excited; they hit out with their wings, pecked with their beaks, and flop! one after another was thrown out of the nest. There they lay with their anger, holding their heads on one side and blinking the eye that was turned upwards. That was their way of looking foolish.

They could fly a little; by practice they learned to improve, and at last they agreed upon a sign by which to recognise each other if they should meet in the world later on. It was to be one “Peep!” and three scratches on the ground with the left foot.

The young one who had remained behind in the nest made himself as broad as he could, for he was the proprietor. But this greatness did not last long. In the night the red flames burst through the window and seized the roof, the dry straw blazed up high, and the whole house, together with the young sparrow, was burned. The two others, who wanted to marry, thus saved their lives by a stroke of luck.

When the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed as if it had had a quiet sleep, there only remained of the farmhouse a few black charred beams leaning against the chimney, which was now its own master. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but the rose-bush stood yonder, fresh, blooming, and untouched, every flower and every twig being reflected in the clear water.

“How beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house,” exclaimed a passer-by. “A pleasanter picture cannot be imagined. I must have that.” And the man took out of his portfolio a little book with white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew the smoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, which bent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, blooming rose-bush, which presented a charming view. For its sake alone the whole picture had been drawn.

Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by. “Where is the house?” they asked. “Where is the nest? Peep! All is burned and our strong brother too. That’s what he has now for keeping the nest. The roses got off very well; there they still stand with their red cheeks. They certainly do not mourn at their neighbours’ misfortunes. I don’t want to talk to them, and it looks miserable here—that’s my opinion.” And away they went.

On a beautiful sunny autumn day—one could almost have believed it was still the middle of summer—there hopped about in the dry clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the Hall a number of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in the sunlight. The pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: “Stand in groups, stand in groups! for that looks much better.”

“What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that run about behind us?” asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes. “Little grey ones! Little grey ones!” she cried.

“They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had the reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the corn with us; they don’t interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettily when they bow.”

Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with the left foot and also said “Peep!” By this means they recognised each other, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house.

“Here is excellent fare!” said the sparrow. The pigeons strutted round one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their own private views and opinions.

“Do you see that pouter pigeon?” said one to the other. “Do you see how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and the best ones too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the ugly, spiteful creature! Curoo! Curoo!” And the eyes of all sparkled with malice. “Stand in groups! Stand in groups! Little grey ones, little grey ones! Curoo, curoo, curoo!”

So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands of years. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and even stood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all. They were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinions about them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they found the door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more than full, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. “Peep!” said he; “I may venture that.”

“Peep!” said the other; “so may I, and something more too!” and he hopped into the room. No one was there; the third sparrow, seeing this, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, “All or nothing! It is a curious man’s nest all the same; and what have they put up here? What is it?”

Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected in the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhanging chimney. “Do tell me what this is. How comes this in a room at the Hall?” And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and the chimney, but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture, a great splendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch.

“Peep!” said the sparrows, “it’s nothing. It only looks like something. Peep! that is ‘the beautiful.’ Do you understand it? I don’t.”

And they flew away, for some people came into the room.

Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not to say growled—the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen in winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to call it. They had little ones, and of course each one thought his own the handsomest and cleverest; one flew this way, another that, and when they met they recognised each other by their “Peep!” and the three scrapes with the left foot. The eldest had remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. It was her pet idea to see a great city, so she flew to Copenhagen.

There was a large house painted in many gay colours standing close to the castle and the canal, upon which latter were to be seen many ships laden with apples and pottery. The windows of the house were broader at the bottom than at the top, and when the sparrows looked through them, every room appeared to them like a tulip with the brightest colours and shades. But in the middle of the tulip stood white men, made of marble; a few were of plaster; still, looked at with sparrows’ eyes, that comes to the same thing. Up on the roof stood a metal chariot drawn by metal horses, and the goddess of Victory, also of metal, was driving. It was Thorwaldsen’s Museum.

“How it shines! how it shines!” said the maiden sparrow. “I suppose that is ‘the beautiful.’ Peep! But here it is larger than a peacock.” She still remembered what in her childhood’s days her mother had looked upon as the greatest among the beautiful. She flew down into the courtyard: there everything was extremely fine. Palms and branches were painted on the walls, and in the middle of the court stood a great blooming rose-tree spreading out its fresh boughs, covered with roses, over a grave. Thither flew the maiden sparrow, for she saw several of her own kind there. A “peep” and three foot-scrapings—in this way she had often greeted throughout the year, and no one here had responded, for those who are once parted do not meet every day; and so this greeting had become a habit with her. But to-day two old sparrows and a young one answered with a “peep” and the thrice-repeated scrape with the left foot.

“Ah! Good-day! good-day!” They were two old ones from the nest and a little one of the family. “Do we meet here? It’s a grand place, but there’s not much to eat. This is ‘the beautiful.’ Peep!”

Many people came out of the side rooms where the beautiful marble statues stood and approached the grave where lay the great master who had created these works of art. All stood with enraptured faces round Thorwaldsen’s grave, and a few picked up the fallen rose-leaves and preserved them. They had come from afar: one from mighty England, others from Germany and France. The fairest of the ladies plucked one of the roses and hid it in her bosom. Then the sparrows thought that the roses reigned here, and that the house had been built for their sake. That appeared to them to be really too much, but since all the people showed their love for the roses, they did not wish to be behindhand. “Peep!” they said sweeping the ground with their tails, and blinking with one eye at the roses, they had not looked at them long before they were convinced that they were their old neighbours. And so they really were. The painter who had drawn the rose-bush near the ruined house, had afterwards obtained permission to dig it up, and had given it to the architect, for finer roses had never been seen. The architect had planted it upon Thorwaldsen’s grave, where it bloomed as an emblem of ‘the beautiful’ and yielded fragrant red rose-leaves to be carried as mementoes to distant lands.

“Have you obtained an appointment here in the city?” asked the sparrows. The roses nodded; they recognized their grey neighbours and were pleased to see them again. “How glorious it is to live and to bloom, to see old friends again, and happy faces every day. It is as if every day were a festival.” “Peep!” said the sparrows. “Yes, they are really our old neighbours; we remember their origin near the pond. Peep! how they have got on. Yes, some succeed while they are asleep. Ah! there’s a faded leaf; I can see that quite plainly.” And they pecked at it till it fell off. But the tree stood there fresher and greener than ever; the roses bloomed in the sunshine on Thorwaldsen’s grave and became associated with his immortal name.

東北本來以為重要的事情是在鴨池怎麼回事,但它是什麼,畢竟。所有的鴨子靜靜地躺在水中或站在他們的頭在裡面,因為他們能做到這一點,立刻蜂擁而上向兩側他們的腳的痕跡出現在濕地上,他們高聲談笑聽到遠播。的水,這幾分鐘之前已經清晰和光滑如鏡,變得非常不安。之前,每一棵樹,每相鄰的灌木,老農舍,屋頂上的孔與燕窩,尤其是偉大的玫瑰灌木開滿鮮花,已反映在其中。玫瑰,灌木覆蓋在牆上,掛在水面中,一切都被看作是如果在一個畫面,只是這一切顛倒了但是當水被困擾的一切搞混了,畫面就消失了。兩個羽毛其中飄飄鴨子已經失去了上下浮動突然,他們採取了匆忙,彷彿風都來了,但它沒有來,他們只好躺著不動,而水再次變得安靜和平穩。玫瑰再次體現他們是很漂亮,但他們不知道,因為沒有人告訴他們。太陽照耀著微妙的枝葉間一切都怔怔出來的最可愛的香味,而且都覺得像我們這樣,當我們在我們幸福的思想充滿了喜悅。

多麼美麗的存在是!說,每上漲。我希望有唯一的一點是要能夠親吻太陽,因為它是如此溫暖而明亮。我也喜歡親吻那些玫瑰花倒在水中​​,這是多麼像我們,在鳥巢的漂亮小鳥下來。也有一些了上面太他們把他們的頭和管輕輕地他們沒有羽毛像他們的父親和母親。我們有好鄰居,均低於以上。多麼美麗的存在是!

年輕的上面和下面,下面的那些人真的只有影子在水中,是麻雀他們的父母是麻雀太,並已接管去年空燕窩,現在住在它,好像它是自己的財產。

是那些鴨子的孩子游泳嗎?問年輕的麻雀,當他們看到羽毛上的水。

如果你要問問題,問懂事的人,說:他們的母親。你難道不明白,他們是羽毛,如我穿,你會穿嗎?但我們是更好的。不過,我想有他們在巢,因為他們暖身。我很好奇,想知道是什麼鴨子是如此震驚的約不是我們的,當然,雖然我沒有說'窺視'你很大聲。厚為首的玫瑰應該知道為什麼,但他們知道什麼都沒有他們只能看著自己和異味。我由衷地感到厭倦這樣的鄰居。

聽親愛的小鳥兒在那裡,說:玫瑰; “他們開始想唱歌了,但不能管理它。但它很快就會到來。什麼是快樂那一定是!這是罰款,有這樣開朗的鄰居。

突然,兩匹馬飛奔來到高達澆水。一個農夫的男孩騎著之一,他已經脫掉了他所有的衣服,除了他的大寬闊的黑色帽子。這個男孩吹了聲口哨像一隻鳥,並乘坐了入池塘的地方是最深的,當他通過了玫瑰灌木,他摘了一朵玫瑰花,並在他的帽子卡住了。現在,他看著穿著打扮,騎著。其他玫瑰看著自己的妹妹後,問對方,在哪裡可以,她會去?但是沒有人知道。

我喜歡去外面的世界僅此一次,一說; “但在這裡,在家中我們的綠色葉子很漂亮了。在整天的太陽照得明亮而溫馨,並在夜間天空中閃耀更精彩依舊我們可以看到,通過它所有的小漏洞

他們的意思星星,但他們知道沒有更好的。

我們可以很活潑關於房子,說:麻雀母親; “人們說,一個燕窩帶來好運所以他們很高興我們的。但這樣的鄰居為我們的!玫瑰布什在牆上一樣,導致受潮。我敢說它會被帶走那麼,我們應當或許,有一些玉米在這裡成長。玫瑰就一無是處,但讓我們看一看,為冶煉,或至多被卡在一頂帽子。每一年,因為我一直告訴我的母親,他們脫落。農夫的妻子保留了他們,並strews鹽,其中然後他們得到,我也不能發音,也不關心一個法國名字,並投入火中,使一個很好的氣味。你看,這就是他們的生活它們只存在於眼睛和鼻子。現在你知道了。

到了晚上,當蚊蚋是在溫暖的空氣,並在紅雲打一下,夜鶯來了,要唱的漂亮就像陽光世界的玫瑰花,那美麗的生活,直到永遠。玫瑰以為夜鶯是唱自己,那人們可能會很輕易地相信他們不知道這首歌是關於他們。但他們很高興能與它,並想知道所有的小麻雀能否成為夜鶯。

據我所知,鳥兒的鳴唱非常好,​​說:年輕的麻雀。有,這不是很清楚,我只有一個字。什麼是'美麗'是什麼意思?

什麼都沒有,回答他們的母親; “這只是外在的東西。在展廳,那裡的鴿子有自己的房子,而玉米和豌豆都散落在他們面前的每一天,我已經吃過飯與他們自己,你應及時做,太對於告訴我是什麼公司你保持,我會告訴你,你是誰,而目前的大廳,他們有兩隻鳥與綠色的脖子和在他們頭上的波峰他們可以把她們的尾巴像一個巨大的車輪,而這些是如此明亮,各種顏色,它使人的眼睛疼。這些鳥被稱為孔雀,那就是美麗。如果他們只摘了一點,他們看起來並不比我們其他人更好。我會摘下他們已經,如果他們沒有那麼大了。

我會摘下他們,管道年輕的麻雀,誰沒有羽毛呢。

在農家住的年輕夫婦他們彼此深愛著對方心疼,是勤奮和積極,一切都在他們的家看上去很不錯。上週日年輕的妻子來到了早,彈撥極少數最美麗的玫瑰花,並把它們放進一杯水,這是她放在櫃子裡。

現在我看到它是星期天,丈夫說,親吻他的小妻子。他們坐了下來,看了他們的讚美詩書,並舉行對方的手,而太陽在新鮮的玫瑰和在他們身上投射下來。

這景象實在是太繁瑣,說:麻雀母親,誰可以看到房間從她的巢她飛走了。

同樣的事情發生在上週日以下,對於每個星期天鮮玫瑰花放入玻璃但玫瑰灌木開花的美麗如初。這位年輕的麻雀現在有羽毛,非常想與他們的母親飛但她不會允許它,所以他們不得不留在家中。在她的航班之一,但它可能已經發生了,她被抓了,之前她是意識到這一點,其中一些男孩已經連接到一棵樹一馬毛淨。馬毛緊緊地拉圓了她的腿一樣緊緊好像後者是被切斷她是在巨大的痛苦和恐怖。男孩們跑起來抓住她,並在沒有任何溫和的方式。

這只是一隻小麻雀,他們說他們沒有,不過,讓她走,但把她帶回家,每次她哭了一次,他們擊中了她的嘴。

在農舍是一個老人誰知道製作肥皂成餅和球,無論是剃須和洗滌。他是一個快樂的老男人,總是徘徊。在看到該男孩帶來了麻雀,和他們說,他們不想,他問道:難道我們讓它看起來很漂亮?

在這些字的冰冷發抖通過麻雀母親跑了。

了他的箱子,其中是最美麗的顏色時,老人拉著閃亮葉黃金的數量,而男孩不得不去獲取一些白色的蛋,與麻雀是各地有污點黃金被卡在這,和麻雀,母親現在全身都貼滿。但她,顫抖著在每一個肢體,沒想到裝飾的。然後,肥皂人撕下了從他的老外套紅色襯裡一小片,並切斷它,從而使它看起來像一個雞冠,他堅持到了鳥的頭部。

現在你會看到黃金外套飛,老人說,讓麻雀去,這飛走了極度恐懼,與太陽照耀在她的。她怎麼閃閃發光!所有的麻雀,連烏鴉和一個老男孩,他太被嚇了一跳的視線;但他們仍然飛到後她學習,她是什麼樣的奇怪的鳥。

帶動害怕和恐懼,她向家飛去她幾乎昏厥下沉到地球,同時追求鳥類的羊群增加,有的甚至企圖啄她。

看她!看她!他們全都哭了。

看她!看她的哭她的小傢伙。當她走近的巢。這當然是一個年輕的孔雀,它閃耀在所有的顏色它使一個人的眼睛疼,作為母親告訴我們。偷看!這是'美麗的'“然後他們啄的鳥,他們的小喙,這樣,就不可能讓她進入巢她是如此的疲憊,她甚至不能說嘟!少得多我是你的母親!的其他鳥類,太,如今落在麻雀拔下羽毛羽毛後,直到她摔倒出血到玫瑰布什。

可憐的人說,所有的玫瑰; “僅是寂靜的,我們幫你隱藏。精益你的小腦袋對付我們。

麻雀攤開她的翅膀一次,然後緊緊拉他們到她,倒在地上死了鄰近的家庭,美麗的鮮玫瑰花附近。

嘟!從鳥巢響起。在哪裡可以媽媽這麼久?它比我能理解。它不能是她的一個小動作,而意味著我們現在要照顧好自己。她給我們留下的房子作為遺產但我們中的哪是屬於當我們有我們自己的家庭?

是的,它不會做讓你留在我身邊時,我提高我的家庭,妻子和孩子,說:最小的。

我敢說​​我比你更妻子和孩子,說:第二個。

但我的大小姐!驚呼第三。然後,他們都興奮起來他們擊中了他們的翅膀,帶啄他們的嘴,和翻牌!一個又一個被拋出巢。在那裡,他們與他們的憤怒躺著,抱著自己的頭,另一面閃爍被向上翻眼睛。這是他們的期待愚蠢的方式。

他們能飛一點通過實踐,他們學會了改進,最後他們商定的標誌由相互承認,如果他們要在世人見面以後。這是為一嘟!,並在地下三層的划痕用左腳。

這位年輕的一個誰在鳥巢背後仍然使自己盡可能廣泛,他可以,因為他是老闆。但這個偉大並沒有持續多久。在夜晚的紅色火焰爆裂透過窗戶抓住了屋頂,幹秸稈開闢了高,整個房子,與年輕的麻雀一起,被燒毀。兩個人,誰想娶,從而靠運氣的行程保住了性命。

當太陽再次上升,一切看起來神清氣爽,猶如有一個安靜的睡眠中,只留了農家的幾個黑色的燒焦的橫梁靠在煙囪,這是現在自己的主人。濃煙仍升從廢墟中,但玫瑰灌木站在那邊,新鮮,開花,和原始的,每一朵花,每枝被反射在清澈的水中。

玫瑰被破壞的房子前如何美麗綻放,驚呼一個匆匆過客。一個會更開心的圖片是無法想像的。我必須說,那人拿出了他的投資組合與白色的葉子一本小書的:他是一個畫家,他的鉛筆,他提請吸煙房,燒焦的橫梁和懸垂煙囪,其中彎曲越來越多在前台,他把大的,盛開的玫瑰灌木,其中提出的迷人景色。單就它的緣故全貌已提取。

當天晚些時候,誰是出生在那裡的兩隻麻雀來了。哪裡的房子?他們問。哪裡是巢?偷看!所有的被燃燒,我們的強哥了。這就是他現在已經保持巢。玫瑰下車非常好;那裡他們仍然站在他們的臉頰紅紅的。他們當然不會在哀悼他們的鄰居的不幸。我不想與他們交談,並且它看起來慘這裡,這是我的意見。而離開他們去了。

在一個陽光明媚的秋日,我們幾乎都認為它仍然是中間夏天有霍爾的主要入口了一些黑,白,華麗地色鴿前的乾燥清潔,清掃庭院跳一下,所有閃耀在陽光下。鴿子 - 母親傳給年輕的說:站在群體,站在團體!對於看起來好多了。

什麼樣的生物是那些小灰那些奔波在我們身後?問一個老鴿子,紅色和綠色在她的眼睛。小灰的!小灰的!她哭著說。

他們是麻雀,和良好的生物。我們一直有被虔誠的聲譽,所以我們將讓他們拿起玉米與我們他們不會打斷我們的談話,和他們湊這麼嬌滴滴他們低頭的時候。

事實上,他們正在不斷地使三足刮出用左腳和還表示,嘟!通過這種方法,他們認出了對方,因為他們是從被燒毀的房子窩麻雀。

這是極好的美食!之稱的麻雀。鴿子大搖大擺地圓彼此強烈地鼓起了自己的胸前,並有自己的私人看法和意見。

你看見那個pouter鴿子?說一個到另一個。你看她是怎麼吞下的豌豆?她吃得太多了,最好的了。CurooCuroo!她怎麼舉起她的波峰,醜,惡意的生物!CurooCuroo和所有的眼睛閃爍著惡意。站在團體!站在團體!小灰的人,小灰的!Curoocuroocuroo

所以他們的嘮叨跑了,所以它可以運行在幾千年的。麻雀吃了韶山他們認真地聽,甚至站在與他人的行列,但它並不適合他們。他們都滿了,所以他們離開了鴿子,交換意見他們,下花園圍籬下滑,而當他們發現通往房子開,其中一人,誰是滿多的,因此,門感到勇敢,跳上閾值。!窺視他說; “我可以冒昧地說。

窺視之稱的除外; “所以,我想,和更多的東西呢!,他跳進了房間。沒有人在那裡第三麻雀,見狀,立馬仍遠進了房間,嚷著,全有或全無!這是一個奇怪的人的窩都一樣在什麼事,他們把在這裡?這是什麼?

接近玫瑰花盛開的麻雀他們倒映在水中,和燒焦的橫梁靠在懸垂煙囪。別告訴我這是什麼。如何在一個房間在大廳來此?所有三個麻雀要飛過玫瑰和煙囪,而是立馬對平壁。這是所有的圖片,一個偉大的輝煌畫面,藝術家已經從一個草圖繪。

嘟!之稱的麻雀,這沒有什麼。它只是看起來像什麼。偷看!那就是美麗。你明白了嗎?我不知道。

他們飛走了,對某些人走進房間。

天與歲月的流逝。鴿子常常叫喚,不是說咆哮的最惡毒的動物麻雀已被凍結在冬季,並在夏天的歡快生活:他們都訂婚,或者結婚,或者任何你喜歡稱呼它。他們有孩子,當然每個人想到了自己最漂亮和​​聰明一次執行飛行任務這種方式,另一種是,當他們遇見他們認識到對方的嘟!和三個擦傷左腳。大小姐一直保持一個老女僕,也沒有窩,也不年輕的。這是她的寵物的想法,看看一個偉大的城市,所以她飛到哥本哈根。

有一所大房子漆成許多顏色鮮豔站在靠近城堡,運河,在其中後者是待觀察許多船隻滿載著蘋果和陶器。房子的窗戶是在更廣泛的比在頂部底部,而當麻雀期待通過他們,每個房間都出現在他們面前像最明亮的顏色和色調鬱金香。但在鬱金香的中間放著白人男子,大理石少數呈石膏依然,看著與麻雀的眼睛,那涉及到同樣的事情。在屋頂站在金屬馬拉金屬戰車,和勝利女神也金屬,駕駛。這是 Thorwaldsen博物館。

它是如何閃耀!它是如何眼前一亮!之稱的少女麻雀。我想這是美麗。偷看!但在這裡,它比孔雀大。她還記得什麼在她的童年的日子她的母親看作之間的美麗是最大的。她飛下來到庭院:有一切都非常精細。棕櫚樹和枝子被畫在牆壁上,並在球場中央站著一個偉大的盛開的玫瑰樹展開它的新鮮樹枝,覆蓋著玫瑰,在一個墳墓。飛到那裡的少女麻雀,因為她看到了她的幾個自己的同類那裡。A“窺視和三足刮出,這樣她經常迎接一年四季,這裡沒有人回答,對於那些誰是分手後不要天天見面所以這個問候語已成為她的一種習慣。但到一天兩老麻雀和一個年輕的人回答了窺視和三次重複刮左腳。

啊!好天!好天!他們是兩個舊的巢家庭的小傢伙。難道我們在這裡開會?這是一個宏偉的地方,但沒有太多吃。這是美麗。偷看!

很多人出來的側房間,美麗的大理石雕像站在那裡,走近墳墓那裡躺著誰創造了這些藝術作品的大師。所有站在眉飛色舞的臉圓Thorwaldsen的墳墓,和一些拾起倒下的玫瑰,葉子和保存它們。他們遠道而來:一個來自強大的英國,其他人來自德國和法國。女士們最公平的彈撥玫瑰之一,並在她的懷裡藏。然後,麻雀以為玫瑰花統治這裡,那房子已經建成為他們的緣故。,似乎他們是真的太多了,但因為所有的人表現出他們對玫瑰的愛,他們不希望被落後。嘟!他們說清掃地面用它們的尾巴,並用一隻眼睛在閃爍的玫瑰,他們並沒有看著他們,他們確信他們是他們的老鄰居很久以前。所以他們真的是。誰曾繪製的玫瑰灌木附近的房子毀了的畫家,曾事後獲准把它挖出來,並把它送給了建築師,更精細的玫瑰那會兒。在Thorwaldsen的墳墓,在那裡開花為'美麗'的象徵,並取得了芬芳的紅玫瑰,葉子要進行的紀​​念品到遙遠的國度建築師親手種下的。

你有沒有在這個城市​​獲得一個約會呢?麻雀。玫瑰點點頭他們認識到他們的灰色鄰居,很高興再次見到他們。它是如何光榮,是生活和開花,再次見到老朋友,和幸福的笑臉每一天。這是因為如果每一天都是一個節日。“”嘟!之稱的麻雀。是的,他們確實是我們的老鄰居我們記得附近的池塘它們的起源。偷看!他們是如何得到的。是的,有些成功的,而他們是睡著了。啊!有一個褪色的葉子我可以看到,一清二楚。他們在啄它,直到它掉下來了。但樹站在那裡比以往任何時候都更新鮮,更環保玫瑰綻放在Thorwaldsen的墳墓陽光,並成為他的不朽的名字相關聯。

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