最后一片叶子英文原文
最后一片叶子[中英对照]
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最后一片叶子(欧亨利小说)编辑《最后一片叶子》,一译《最后的常春藤叶》,主人公是琼西、苏艾、贝尔曼。
文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。
最后一片叶子”的故事,着实让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番,为苏艾的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。
作者通过对穷苦朋友间友谊的描写,刻画出一个舍己为人的以自己生命为代价创造真正杰作的画家形象,讴歌了以贝尔曼为代表的普通人的高尚。
书名最后一片叶子又名最后的常春藤叶作者欧·亨利原版名称The Last Leaf装帧平装开本161作者简介▪生平▪手法2作品内容3作品原文▪中文原文▪英文原文4作品赏析1作者简介编辑生平1862年9月11日,美国最著名的短篇小说家之——欧·亨利(O.Henry)出生于美国北卡罗来纳州有个名叫格林斯波罗的小镇。
曾被评论界誉为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。
1862年他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。
父亲是医生。
他原名威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)。
他所受教育不多,15岁便开始在药房当学徒,20岁时由于健康原因去德克萨斯州的一个牧场当了两年牧牛人,积累了对西部生活的亲身经验。
1884年以后做过会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者。
此后,他在德克萨斯做过不同的工作,包括在奥斯汀银行当出纳员。
他还办过一份名为《滚石》的幽默周刊,并在休斯敦一家日报上发表幽默小说和趣闻逸事。
1887年,亨利结婚并生了一个女儿。
正当他的生活颇为安定之时,却发生了一件改变他命运的事情。
1896年,奥斯汀银行指控他在任职期间盗用资金。
他为了躲避受审,逃往洪都拉斯。
1897年,后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入狱,判处5年徒刑。
在狱中曾担任药剂师,他创作第一部作品的起因是为了给女儿买圣诞礼物,但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名,乃用一部法国药典的编者的名字作为笔名,在《麦克吕尔》杂志发表。
欧亨利最后一片叶子续写英语作文

欧亨利最后一片叶子续写英语作文The Last Leaf Continuation by O. HenryIn the still of the winter night, the cold wind whispered its secrets through the bare branches of the trees. The last remaining leaf on the ivy-covered wall hung tenuously, resisting the relentless pull of gravity and the cruelty of the season. It was a symbol of hope, a beacon in the bleakness, and for Sue and Johnsy, it represented a promise of life.As the days wore on, Johnsy's condition improved slowly but steadily. The doctors were amazed at her resilience and her strong will to live. They attributed it to the miracle of modern medicine, but Sue knew the truth. It was that last leaf, hanging on stubbornly against all odds, that gave Johnsy the courage to fight.One morning, as Sue peeked through the curtains, she saw something that made her heart skip a beat. The last leaf was gone. It had finally succumbed to the forces of nature, falling in the dead of night, without anyone noticing. Sue's heart sank, knowing that Johnsy would see it as a sign of her own inevitable demise.Quickly, Sue gathered her things and hurried out into the street. She knew what she had to do. She had to replace that leaf, to give Johnsy hope once again. She found a painted leaf, a perfect replica of the one that had fallen, and carefully affixed it to the wall.When Johnsy awoke and saw the leaf still hanging there, her face lit up with a smile. She knew that the leaf was a sign, a promise that she would live. And with that, her spirit lifted, and her recovery sped up.Weeks passed, and Johnsy's health improved dramatically. She and Sue celebrated the turn of the season and the arrival of spring, knowing that they had overcome the winter of their lives.And so, the story of the last leaf continues, a testament to the power of hope and the resilience of the human spirit. In the face of adversity, we find strength within ourselves, and in the smallest of things, we find reason to believe and to fight. Just as that last leaf hung tenaciously on the wall, giving Sue and Johnsy a reason to hope, so can we find our own reasons to persevere and to believe in ourselves.。
最后一片叶子(中英对照)[修改版]
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第一篇:最后一片叶子(中英对照)最后一片叶子(欧亨利小说)编辑《最后一片叶子》,一译《最后的常春藤叶》,主人公是琼西、苏艾、贝尔曼。
文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。
最后一片叶子”的故事,着实让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番,为苏艾的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。
作者通过对穷苦朋友间友谊的描写,刻画出一个舍己为人的以自己生命为代价创造真正杰作的画家形象,讴歌了以贝尔曼为代表的普通人的高尚。
书名最后一片叶子又名最后的常春藤叶作者欧·亨利原版名称The Last Leaf 装帧平装开本16目录1作者简介▪生平▪手法2作品内容3作品原文▪中文原文▪英文原文4作品赏析1作者简介编辑生平1862年9月11日,美国最著名的短篇小说家之——欧·亨利(O.Henry)出生于美国北卡罗来纳州有个名叫格林斯波罗的小镇。
曾被评论界誉为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。
1862年他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。
父亲是医生。
他原名威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)。
他所受教育不多,15岁便开始在药房当学徒,20岁时由于健康原因去德克萨斯州的一个牧场当了两年牧牛人,积累了对西部生活的亲身经验。
1884年以后做过会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者。
此后,他在德克萨斯做过不同的工作,包括在奥斯汀银行当出纳员。
他还办过一份名为《滚石》的幽默周刊,并在休斯敦一家日报上发表幽默小说和趣闻逸事。
1887年,亨利结婚并生了一个女儿。
正当他的生活颇为安定之时,却发生了一件改变他命运的事情。
1896年,奥斯汀银行指控他在任职期间盗用资金。
他为了躲避受审,逃往洪都拉斯。
1897年,后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入狱,判处5年徒刑。
在狱中曾担任药剂师,他创作第一部作品的起因是为了给女儿买圣诞礼物,但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名,乃用一部法国药典的编者的名字作为笔名,在《麦克吕尔》杂志发表。
最后一片叶子(中英对照)

最后一片叶子(欧亨利小说)编辑《最后一片叶子》,一译《最后的常春藤叶》,主人公是琼西、艾、贝尔曼。
文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。
最后一片叶子”的故事,着实让我们为琼西的命运紧了一番,为艾的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。
作者通过对穷苦朋友间友谊的描写,刻画出一个舍己为人的以自己生命为代价创造真正杰作的画家形象,讴歌了以贝尔曼为代表的普通人的高尚。
书名最后一片叶子又名最后的常春藤叶作者欧·亨利原版名称The Last Leaf装帧平装开本161作者简介▪生平▪手法2作品容3作品原文▪中文原文▪英文原文4作品赏析1作者简介编辑生平1862年9月11日,美国最著名的短篇小说家之——欧·亨利(O.Henry)出生于美国北卡罗来纳州有个名叫格林斯波罗的小镇。
曾被评论界誉为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。
1862年他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。
父亲是医生。
他原名威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)。
他所受教育不多,15岁便开始在药房当学徒,20岁时由于健康原因去德克萨斯州的一个牧场当了两年牧牛人,积累了对西部生活的亲身经验。
1884年以后做过会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者。
此后,他在德克萨斯做过不同的工作,包括在奥斯汀银行当出纳员。
他还办过一份名为《滚石》的幽默周刊,并在休斯敦一家日报上发表幽默小说和趣闻逸事。
1887年,亨利结婚并生了一个女儿。
正当他的生活颇为安定之时,却发生了一件改变他命运的事情。
1896年,奥斯汀银行指控他在任职期间盗用资金。
他为了躲避受审,逃往洪都拉斯。
1897年,后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入狱,判处5年徒刑。
在狱中曾担任药剂师,他创作第一部作品的起因是为了给女儿买圣诞礼物,但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名,乃用一部法国药典的编者的名字作为笔名,在《麦克吕尔》杂志发表。
最后一片叶子英语作文100字

The Last LeafIn the deep autumn, the tree was stripped bare save for one single leaf. It clung tenaciously to the branch, resisting the merciless embrace of the winter chill. This lonely leaf, the final survivor, stood as a testament to resilience and determination. As days grew shorter and colder, the leaf's green hue faded, turning a shade of yellow, yet it refused to let go.Around it, the world was in a state of decay. The other leaves had succumbed to the elements, falling to the ground in a rustle of farewells. But this one, the last leaf, refused to yield. It was a symbol of hope, a beacon of life in a landscape of death. Its mere existence was a challenge to the inevitable.As the days drew to a close, the leaf's hold on the branch loosened. Yet, it still refused to give in. It was a battle between life and death, a struggle that transcended the natural order. Finally, with a gentle breeze, the leaf detached from the branch, floating gracefully towards the ground.Its fall was not a defeat, but a victory. It had defied the odds, held on longer than any other. Its legacy was not just in the tree it had once adorned, but in the spirit it had inspired. The last leaf taught us that even in the face of adversity, resilience and hope can prevail.**最后一片叶子**深秋时节,树上只剩下最后一片叶子。
最后一片叶子 英文原文

最后一片叶子英文原文In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow."She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?""She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue."Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?""A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.""Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.""Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk pasta new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.""You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.""Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.""Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly."I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.""Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.""Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especialmastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings."Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.""She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.""You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade."Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.Wearily Sue obeyed.But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground."It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.""Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming ofthe night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.The ivy leaf was still there.Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove."I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."And hour later she said:"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left."Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all."I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."基本简介:真实姓名:威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)笔名:欧·亨利(O.Henry)生卒年代:美国著名批判现实主义作家,世界三大短篇小说大师之一。
英语日记带翻译:最后一片叶子TheLastLeaf

英语日记带翻译:最后一片叶子TheLastLeaf英语日记带翻译:最后一片叶子 The Last LeafThe Last Leaf is a short story written by O Henry, Settledin Greenwich Village. Its depicts characters and themes are typically of O Henry’s work.最后一片叶子是由住在格林威治村的欧亨利写的一个短篇故事。
它所描写的人物和主题是欧亨利的经典作品。
Johnsy has fallen ill and is dying of pneumonia. She watches the leaves falling from the window of her room, and decides that when the last leaf drops, she will die, too. To encourage her, Mr. Behrman painted the last leaf in a stormy night but he died of pneumonia because of his efforts in the storm.琼西已经生病了而且将要死于肺炎。
她从她房间的窗户上看着叶子坠落,并认定当最后一片叶子掉下来的时候,她就会死。
为了鼓励她,贝尔曼先生在一个风雨交加的夜晚画了最后一片叶子,但他却因为在风暴中的努力而死于肺炎。
This is a sad story about sacrifice as well as a moving story about hope. Likewise, we can learn about something from this story, something that totally different from each other.这是一个关于牺牲的伤感故事同时也是关于希望的感人故事。
英语续写最后一片叶子作文

英语续写最后一片叶子作文The Last Leaf's LegacyAs the last leaf hung precariously on the barren branch, it seemed to hold onto life with all its might. The cold winter winds howled, taunting the fragile hold of the leaf, but it refused to give in. Its neighbors had already succumbed to the merciless embrace of autumn, falling silently to the ground, their green hues replaced by brown and decay.In the apartment below, Sue, an artist in search of inspiration, watched the lonely leaf with a mix of curiosity and awe. She had lost her husband to the brutal winter of the previous year, and since then, her world had been painted in shades of gray. The leaf's tenacity reminded her of her own struggle to find meaning and purpose in her life again.Day after day, Sue watched the leaf, sketching its form and capturing its spirit. She found a newfound peace in the repetition of her routine, and her heart began to heal. But as the winter deepened, the leaf's hold on the branch grew weaker. Sue knew that the inevitable end was near.One cold morning, Sue awoke to find the leaf gone. Her heart sank, and she felt a sense of loss that was familiar andyet new. She went to her window, expecting to see only bare branches against the winter sky. But then, she noticed a soft green peeking through the snow.It was a new leaf, small and fragile, but it had emerged from the dead branch where the last leaf had fallen. Sue smiled through her tears, understanding that the legacy of the last leaf was not just its tenacity but its ability to inspire and give life.She picked up her sketchbook and began to draw, capturing the beauty of the new leaf and the hope it brought. That day, Sue realized that just as the leaf had found new life, she too could move forward, carrying the memory of her loved one and finding joy in the simple pleasures of life.And so, the legacy of the last leaf lived on, not just in the new growth that sprung from its demise but also in the transformed heart of a woman who found strength and courage in its story.。
Thelastleaf最后一片叶子

Thelastleaf最后一片叶子作者:谢飞来源:《中学生英语·学生综合天地》2012年第11期《最后一片叶子》,也译为《最后的常春藤叶》是美国著名批判现实主义作家欧·亨利(O.Henry)的代表作之一。
他是世界三大短篇小说大师之一,他善于挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展现他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。
本故事让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番,为苏的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。
1.In a little district west of Washington Square,Sue and Johnsy had their studio at the top of a squatty,three-story brick.在华盛顿广场西边的一个小区里,苏和琼西的画室设在一所又宽又矮的三层楼砖房的顶楼上。
2.“Johnsy”was familiar for Joanna.One was from Maine;the otherfrom California.They had met at a Caféin the street in May and found they had a lot in common,so they rented the joint studio.“琼西”是琼娜的昵称。
她俩一个来自缅因州,一个来自加利福尼亚州。
她们五月在街上的咖啡厅相遇,发现彼此有很多相同之处,便合租了那间画室。
3.In November,Pneumonia spread in the district,many people were contracted,and Johnsy was one of the victims.She lay on her bed,scarcely moving,looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.到了11月,肺炎在这个区蔓延,很多人都感染了,琼西也患上了可怕的肺炎。
最后一片叶子琼珊知道真相后续写英语作文

The Revelation of the Last Leaf: A Sequel to The Last Leaf by O. HenryAs the last leaf hung precariously on the vine, Joan Shan's heart raced with a mixture of hope and dread. She had been lying in her bed, her gaze fixed on the solitary leaf, a symbol of her own tenuous hold on life. Her friends had tried to cheer her up, but she was determined to die with the falling of that final leaf.As the days wore on, the leaf refused to budge, defying the cold and the storms that raged outside. Joan's spirit was lifted by its stubborn persistence, and she found herself clinging to life with renewed vigor. But deepwithin her, a lingering doubt remained: Was this leaf truly a sign from God or was it something else?One morning, as Joan lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the leaf, she heard the rustling of papers outside her room. Curious, she called for her friend Sue to bring her the newspaper. As Sue entered the room, Joan's eyes widened in surprise. On the front page was a photograph of the very vine with the last leaf, and the caption read: "Miracle of Life: The Last Leaf That Refused to Fall."Joan's heart skipped a beat. She handed the newspaper back to Sue with a trembling hand and asked, "How did this happen? Who took this picture?"Sue smiled gently and sat down beside her. "Joan,you've been so strong, but you've needed to know the truth. That leaf didn't defy nature; it was painted on there by an artist friend of mine. He did it to give you hope, to give you a reason to fight."Joan's mouth hung open in disbelief. "But...why would he do that?""Because he believed in you, Joan. He knew your spirit was stronger than your body, and he wanted to give you a chance to prove it. He wanted to see you win this battle, not just survive it."Joan felt a surge of emotion within her. She had been so fixated on the leaf, so certain of her fate, that she hadn't realized the extent of her friends' love and sacrifice for her. Tears streamed down her face as she grasped Sue's hand."Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for showing methe truth."With renewed determination, Joan threw off the covers and sat up in bed. She knew she had a fight ahead of her,but she was no longer alone. She had the support of her friends and the strength of her own spirit to guide her.The last leaf had been a lie, but it had led to a truth even more powerful: the power of love and hope. Joan Shan would live to fight another day, and the memory of that painted leaf would forever be a reminder of the resilienceof the human spirit.**《最后一片叶子的启示:欧·亨利《最后一片叶子》的续集》**当最后一片叶子摇摇欲坠地挂在藤蔓上时,琼珊的心中充满了希望与恐惧。
最后一片叶子中英对照

最后一片叶子(欧亨利小说)编辑《最后一片叶子》,一译《最后的常春藤叶》,主人公是琼西、苏艾、贝尔曼。
文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。
最后一片叶子”的故事,着实让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番,为苏艾的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。
作者通过对穷苦朋友间友谊的描写,刻画出一个舍己为人的以自己生命为代价创造真正杰作的画家形象,讴歌了以贝尔曼为代表的普通人的高尚。
书名最后一片叶子又名最后的常春藤叶作者欧·亨利原版名称The Last Leaf装帧平装开本161作者简介?生平?手法2作品内容3作品原文?中文原文?英文原文4作品赏析作者简介编辑生平1862年9月11日,美国最着名的短篇小说家之——欧·亨利(O.Henry)出生于美国北卡罗来纳州有个名叫格林斯波罗的小镇。
曾被评论界誉为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。
1862年他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。
父亲是医生。
他原名威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)。
他所受教育不多,15岁便开始在药房当学徒,20岁时由于健康原因去德克萨斯州的一个牧场当了两年牧牛人,积累了对西部生活的亲身经验。
1884年以后做过会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者。
此后,他在德克萨斯做过不同的工作,包括在奥斯汀银行当出纳员。
他还办过一份名为《滚石》的幽默周刊,并在休斯敦一家日报上发表幽默小说和趣闻逸事。
1887年,亨利结婚并生了一个女儿。
正当他的生活颇为安定之时,却发生了一件改变他命运的事情。
1896年,奥斯汀银行指控他在任职期间盗用资金。
他为了躲避受审,逃往洪都拉斯。
1897年,后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入狱,判处5年徒刑。
在狱中曾担任药剂师,他创作第一部作品的起因是为了给女儿买圣诞礼物,但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名,乃用一部法国药典的编者的名字作为笔名,在《麦克吕尔》杂志发表。
The_last_leaf(最后一片叶子中文翻译)

The last leaf中文译文注:这是欧·亨利小说原文的中文译文,仅供参考。
在华盛顿广场西边的一个小区里,街道都横七竖八地伸展开去,又分裂成一小条一小条的“胡同”。
这些“胡同”稀奇古怪地拐着弯子。
一条街有时自己本身就交叉了不止一次。
有一回一个画家发现这条街有一种优越性:要是有个收帐的跑到这条街上,来催要颜料、纸张和画布的钱,他就会突然发现自己两手空空,原路返回,一文钱的帐也没有要到!所以,不久之后不少画家就摸索到这个古色古香的老格林尼治村来,寻求朝北的窗户、18世纪的尖顶山墙、荷兰式的阁楼,以及低廉的房租。
然后,他们又从第六街买来一些蜡酒杯和一两只火锅,这里便成了“艺术区”。
苏和琼西的画室设在一所又宽又矮的三层楼砖房的顶楼上。
“琼西”是琼娜的爱称。
她俩一个来自缅因州,一个是加利福尼亚州人。
她们是在第八街的“台尔蒙尼歌之家”吃份饭时碰到的,她们发现彼此对艺术、生菜色拉和时装的爱好非常一致,便合租了那间画室。
那是5月里的事。
到了11月,一个冷酷的、肉眼看不见的、医生们叫做“肺炎”的不速之客,在艺术区里悄悄地游荡,用他冰冷的手指头这里碰一下那里碰一下。
在广场东头,这个破坏者明目张胆地踏着大步,一下子就击倒几十个受害者,可是在迷宫一样、狭窄而铺满青苔的“胡同”里,他的步伐就慢了下来。
肺炎先生不是一个你们心目中行侠仗义的老的绅士。
一个身子单薄,被加利福尼亚州的西风刮得没有血色的弱女子,本来不应该是这个有着红拳头的、呼吸急促的老家伙打击的对象。
然而,琼西却遭到了打击;她躺在一张油漆过的铁床上,一动也不动,凝望着小小的荷兰式玻璃窗外对面砖房的空墙。
一天早晨,那个忙碌的医生扬了扬他那毛茸茸的灰白色眉毛,把苏叫到外边的走廊上。
“我看,她的病只有十分之一的恢复希望,”他一面把体温表里的水银柱甩下去,一面说,“这一分希望就是她想要活下去的念头。
有些人好像不愿意活下去,喜欢照顾殡仪馆的生意,简直让整个医药界都无能为力。
thelastleaf课文原文及翻译

thelastleaf课文原文及翻译The Last LeafBeside the artery of the little street, there was a small IRISH shop. Across the street, there was an old brown art studio with a large sofa near the windows. Two young friends, Johnsy and Sue, most of the time stayed in the little studio.在那条小街道的一头,有一间小小的爱尔兰商店。
街对面,有一间陈色的艺术工作室,室内靠窗有一张大沙发。
两个年轻的朋友约翰西和苏,大部分时间呆在那间小工作室里。
It was the autumn of the year and the city had cold wind blowing in from the sea. One night, Johnsy made a statement that she hoped all the ivy leaves would be gone from the wall. They were the last leaves on the old wall, and now they were all shaking because of the cold wind.当时正值秋天,海风带来寒意。
一天晚上,约翰西说,希望墙上所有常春藤的叶子能够掉光。
它们是那陈旧墙壁上的最后一片叶子,现在受到寒风的吹动,正在摇曳。
Sue told her that it was a silly idea, but Johnsy just wanted to see the last leaf fall to make her happy. Then Sue went out to have a look at the leaves. Strangely, there was still one leaf on the wall, but it was not moving, no matter how much the wind blew.苏认为约翰西的想法很蠢,但约翰西仍然希望看到最后一片叶子掉落,让自己乐上加乐。
英文最后一片叶子

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow."She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?""She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue."Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?""A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.""Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeralprocession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of thebrick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.""Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.""You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.""Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.""Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly."I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.""Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.""Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrmanwas a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings."Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your foolhermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.""She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.""You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade."Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.Wearily Sue obeyed.But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground."It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.""Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.The ivy leaf was still there.Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove."I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."And hour later she said:"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left."Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all."I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."。
最后一片叶子琼西知道真相后续写英语作文

最后一片叶子琼西知道真相后续写英语作文As the last leaf fell from the tree, Qiongxi finally understood the truth behind its mysterious disappearance.Qiongxi had always been fascinated by the lone leaf that refused to fall from the tree even as autumn turned into winter. She found herself visiting the tree every day, watching as the other leaves drifted to the ground while the last leaf stubbornly clung to its branch.One day, as she sat beneath the tree, Qiongxi spotted a small bird perched on a nearby branch, its bright eyes fixed on the last leaf. Intrigued, she approached the bird and asked it why it was so interested in the leaf.The bird cocked its head to one side and replied, "The last leaf is special. It holds the secret to eternal life, but only those who are pure of heart can discover its true power."Qiongxi was taken aback by the bird's words. Eternal life? She had always been curious about the mysteries of the world, and the thought of unlocking the secrets of the last leaf intrigued her.Determined to uncover the truth, Qiongxi spent hours studying the leaf, trying to decipher its hidden message. Shetouched its delicate veins, listened to the whisper of the wind as it rustled through its branches, and even tasted its bitter-sweet taste.And then, one day, as she sat beneath the tree, the answer came to her in a moment of clarity. The last leaf was not a symbol of eternal life, but a reminder of the fleeting beauty of mortality.Tears filled Qiongxi's eyes as she realized the truth. The last leaf was a reminder to cherish each moment, to embrace the beauty of the present, and to let go of the fear of the unknown.With a newfound sense of peace, Qiongxi watched as the last leaf finally fell from the tree, releasing its hold on the branch and drifting gently to the ground. And in that moment, she knew that she had discovered the true meaning of life.。
最后一片叶子(中英对照)之欧阳治创编

最后一片叶子(欧亨利小说)编辑《最后一片叶子》,一译《最后的常春藤叶》,主人公是琼西、苏艾、贝尔曼。
文中作者着力挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德,展示他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。
最后一片叶子”的故事,着实让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番,为苏艾的友谊感叹了一回,为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。
作者通过对穷苦朋友间友谊的描写,刻画出一个舍己为人的以自己生命为代价创造真正杰作的画家形象,讴歌了以贝尔曼为代表的普通人的高尚。
书名最后一片叶子又名最后的常春藤叶作者欧·亨利原版名称The Last Leaf装帧平装开本161作者简介▪生平▪手法2作品内容3作品原文▪中文原文▪英文原文4作品赏析作者简介编辑生平1862年9月11日,美国最著名的短篇小说家之——欧·亨利(O.Henry)出生于美国北卡罗来纳州有个名叫格林斯波罗的小镇。
曾被评论界誉为曼哈顿桂冠散文作家和美国现代短篇小说之父。
1862年他出身于美国北卡罗来纳州格林斯波罗镇一个医师家庭。
父亲是医生。
他原名威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)。
他所受教育不多,15岁便开始在药房当学徒,20岁时由于健康原因去德克萨斯州的一个牧场当了两年牧牛人,积累了对西部生活的亲身经验。
1884年以后做过会计员、土地局办事员、新闻记者。
此后,他在德克萨斯做过不同的工作,包括在奥斯汀银行当出纳员。
他还办过一份名为《滚石》的幽默周刊,并在休斯敦一家日报上发表幽默小说和趣闻逸事。
1887年,亨利结婚并生了一个女儿。
正当他的生活颇为安定之时,却发生了一件改变他命运的事情。
1896年,奥斯汀银行指控他在任职期间盗用资金。
他为了躲避受审,逃往洪都拉斯。
1897年,后因回家探视病危的妻子被捕入狱,判处5年徒刑。
在狱中曾担任药剂师,他创作第一部作品的起因是为了给女儿买圣诞礼物,但基于犯人的身份不敢使用真名,乃用一部法国药典的编者的名字作为笔名,在《麦克吕尔》杂志发表。
The Last Leaf 最后一片叶子

The Last Leaf 最后一片叶子作者:张宁来源:《中学生英语·九年级》2020年第09期●Our story today is called “The Last Leaf”. It was written by O. Henry.○我们今天的故事叫做《最后一片叶子》,是欧·亨利写的。
Many artists lived in the Greenwich Village area of New York. Two young women named Sue and Johnsy shared a studio1 apartment at the top of a three-story building. Johnsy’s real name was Joanna.In November, a cold, unseen stranger came to visit the city. This disease, pneumonia2,killed many people. Johnsy lay on her bed, hardly moving. She looked through the small window. She could see the side of the brick house next to her building.One morning, a doctor examined Johnsy and took her temperature. Then he spoke with Sue in another room.“She has one chance in—let us say, ten,” he said. “And that chance is for her to want to live. Your friend has made up her mind that she is not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?”“She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples in Italy some day,” said Sue.“Paint?” said the doctor. “Bosh3!Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice—a man for example?”“A man?” said Sue. “Is a man worth—but, no,doctor; there is nothing of the kind.”“I will do all that science can do,” said the doctor. “But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages4 at her funeral5,I take away fifty percent from the curative6 power of medicines.”After the doctor had gone,Sue went into the workroom and cried. Then she went to Johnsy’s room with her drawing board, whistling7 ragtime8.Johnsy lay with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. She began making a pen and ink drawing for a story in a magazine. Young artists must work their way to “Art” by makin g pictures for magazine stories. Sue heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy’s eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting—counting backward. “Twelve,” she said,and a little later “eleven”; and then “ten” and “nine”; and then “eight” and “seven”, almost together.Sue looked out the window. What was there to count? There was only an empty yard and the blank side of the house seven meters away. An old ivy9 vine10, going bad at the roots, climbed half way up the wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken leaves from the plant until its branches,almost bare, hung on the bricks.“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.“Six,” said Johnsy,quietly. “They’re falling faster no w. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head hurt to count them. But now it’s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.”“Five what, dear?” asked Sue.“Leaves. On the plant. When the last one falls I must go,too. I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”“Oh, I never heard of such a thing,” said Sue. “What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well?And you used to love that vine. Don’t be silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let’s see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one!Try to eat some soup now. And, let me go back to my drawing, so I can sell it to the magazine and buy food and wine for us.”“You needn’t get any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There goes another one. No,I don’t want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go,too.”“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue,“will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working?I must hand those drawings in by tomorrow.”“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a fallen statue11. “I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose12 my hold on everything, and go sailing13 down, down, just like one of those poor,tired leaves.”“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Mr. Behrman up to be my model for my drawing of an old miner14. Don’t try to move until I come back.”Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment building. Behrman was a failure in art. For years, he had always been planning to paint a work of art, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who could not pay for a professional model. He was a fierce15, little, old man who protected the two young women in the studio apartment above him.Sue found Behrman in his room. In one area was a blank canvas16 that had been waiting twenty-five years for the first line of paint. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared that her friend would float away like a leaf.Old Behrman was angered at such an idea. “Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a vine? Why do you let that silly business come in her brain?”“She is very sick and weak,” said Sue,“and the disease has left her mind full of strange ideas.”“This is not any place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick,” yelled Behrman. “Some day I will paint a masterpiece,and we shall all go away.”“Five what, dear?” asked Sue.“Leaves. On the plant. When the last one falls I must go,too. I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”“Oh, I never heard of such a thing,” said Sue. “What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine. Don’t be silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let’s see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one!Try to eat some soup now. And, let me go back to my drawing, so I can sell it to the magazine and buy food and wine for us.”“You needn’t get any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There goes another one. No,I don’t want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fa ll before it gets dark. Then I’ll go,too.”“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue,“will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working?I must hand those drawings in by tomorrow.”“Tell me as soon as you ha ve finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a fallen statue11. “I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose12 my hold on everything, and go sailing13 down, down, just like one of those poor,tired leaves.”“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Mr. Behrman up to be my model for my drawing of an old miner14. Don’t try to move until I come back.”Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment building. Behrman was a failure in art. For years, he had always been planning to paint a work of art, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who could not pay for a professional model. He was a fierce15, little, old man who protected the two young women in the studio apartment above him.Sue found Behrman in his room. In one area was a blank canvas16 that had been waiting twenty-five years for the first line of paint. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared that her friend would float away like a leaf.Old Behrman was angered at such an idea. “Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a vine? Why do you let that silly business come in her brain?”“She is very sick and weak,” said Sue,“and the disease has left her mind full of strange ideas.”“This is not any place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick,” yelled Behrman. “Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away.”“Five what, dear?” asked Sue.“Leaves. On the plant. When the last one falls I must go,too. I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”“Oh, I never heard of such a thing,” said Sue. “What hav e old ivy leaves to do with your getting well?And you used to love that vine. Don’t be silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let’s see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one!Try to eat some soup now. And, let me go back to my drawing, so I can sell it to the magazine and buy food and wine for us.”“You needn’t get any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There goes another one. No,I don’t want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go,too.”“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue,“will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by tomorrow.”“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a fallen statue11. “I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose12 my hold on everything, and go sailing13 down, down, just like one of those poor,tired leaves.”“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Mr. Behrman up to be my model for my drawing of an old miner14. Don’t try to move until I come back.”Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment building. Behrman was a failure in art. For years, he had always been planning to paint a work of art, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who could not pay for a professional model. He was a fierce15, little, old man who protected the two young women in the studio apartment above him.Sue found Behrman in his room. In one area was a blank canvas16 that had been waiting twenty-five years for the first line of paint. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared that her friend would float away like a leaf.Old Behrman was angered at such an idea. “Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a vine? Why do you let that silly business come in her brain?”“She is very sick and weak,” said Sue,“and the disease has left her mind full of strange ideas.”“This is not any place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick,” yelled Behrman. “Some day I will paint a masterpiece,and we shall all go away.”。
最后一片叶子英文作文的续写

最后一片叶子英文作文的续写The wind whispered through the branches, carrying with it the last leaf's farewell. It clung to the bough, a solitary sentinel against the autumn's relentless advance.Beneath the tree, a figure sat, wrapped in a blanket of faded hues. Eyes, once bright with life, now mirrored the fading light of the leaf. The chill air seemed to seep intothe very marrow of their bones, a stark reminder of thefragility of existence.As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the ground, the leaf danced a final jig. It was a dance of defiance, a testament to the tenacity of life even in theface of inevitable decay.The figure rose, drawn by the leaf's silent song. A shawl of resignation draped over their shoulders, they reached out, fingers trembling, to touch the leaf that held the promise of tomorrow.In that moment, as the leaf finally surrendered togravity's pull, a spark ignited within the observer. It wasthe spark of hope, of the belief that even in the darkest of times, there is always a chance for renewal.The leaf landed softly in the waiting palm, a symbol ofthe cycle of life. It was a reminder that just as leaves fall,they will rise again, and so too will the spirit of those who brave the storms of life.As twilight enveloped the scene, the figure walked away, the leaf cradled in their hand. It was a small victory, a whisper of strength in the face of despair. And with each step, the promise of a new beginning grew, as enduring as the cycle of the seasons themselves.。
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最后一片叶子英文原文In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman.A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow."She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?""She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue."Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?""A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.""Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloaksleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumnhad stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.""Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.""You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. Thatleaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.""Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.""Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly."I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.""Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.""Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he hadpainted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings."Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.""She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do notcare to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.""You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade."Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.Wearily Sue obeyed.But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground."It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.""Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.The ivy leaf was still there.Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove."I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."And hour later she said:"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left."Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all."I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivyleaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."基本简介:真实姓名:威廉·西德尼·波特(William Sydney Porter)笔名:欧·亨利(O.Henry)生卒年代:1862.9.11-1910.6.5美国著名批判现实主义作家,世界三大短篇小说大师之一。