Hello dears.
We continue our conversation with you about the great work of the great writer :-) Last time we stopped here:
So...
Have you really solved the riddle?
Has the word been found?
The clock is running; she forgot,
That they've been waiting for her at home for a long time,
Where two neighbors got together
And where is the conversation about it?
- What should I do? Tatyana is not a child, -
The old woman said groaning. -
After all, Olinka is younger than her.
Find a girl, hey,
It's time; what should I do with her?
Everyone says exactly the same thing:
Neidu. And she's still sad
Yes, she wanders through the forests alone. -
In general, they are looking for a match for Tanya behind her back. And they would have found it, definitely.
"Isn't she in love?" - Who?
Buyanov wooed: refusal.
Ivan Petushkov too.
Hussar Pykhtin visited us;
How he was seduced by Tanya,
What a petty demon he was!
I thought: maybe it will work;
Where! and again the matter is apart. -
“Well, mother? What happened?
To Moscow, to the bride's fair!
I hear there are a lot of idle places there."
- Oh, my father! little income. -
"Enough for one winter,
Otherwise, I’ll at least give you a loan.”
I see that Alexander Sergeevich did not only dislike the Uhlans. Gusarov too :-))) Apparently, like the rest of the army :-))) Well, the “bride fair” is a youth get-together, where, in fact, young people (primarily officers) were looking for wives. And then the parents agreed. Showcase with a disco :-) Well, idle in this case is free. In other words, go to Moscow - there you will find a husband worthy of Tanya.
The old lady loved it very much
The advice is reasonable and good;
I got it and immediately put it down
Go to Moscow in winter.
And Tanya hears this news.
To the discerning world
Present clear features
Provincial simplicity
And belated outfits,
And a belated warehouse of speeches;
Moscow dandies and circus
Attract mocking glances!..
O fear! no, better and truer
She should stay in the depths of the forests.
Belated outfits and belated speeches are simply gorgeous. I love it! Circe - daughter of Helios and the oceanid Perseid a Greek mythology and in Homer. But in this particular case it is simply a synonym for the word beauty. Well, then - just no comments
Rising with the first rays,
Now she's in a hurry to the fields
And, with tender eyes
Looking at them, he says:
"Sorry, sweet valleys,
And you, familiar mountain peaks,
And you, familiar forests;
Sorry, heavenly beauty,
Sorry, cheerful nature;
Changing the sweet, quiet light
To the noise of brilliant vanities...
Forgive me too, my freedom!
Where and why am I running?
What does my fate promise me?"
Her walks last a long time.
Now it’s either a hill or a stream
They stop you willy-nilly
Tatyana with her charm.
It's like with old friends,
With its groves and meadows
Still in a hurry to talk.
But summer flies quickly.
Golden autumn has arrived.
Nature is tremulous, pale,
Like a sacrifice, luxuriously decorated...
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The sorceress winter is coming.
She came and fell apart; shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees;
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter.
Only Tanya's heart is not happy with her.
She will not be there to greet the winter,
Breathe frosty dust
And the first snow from the roof of the bathhouse
Wash your face, shoulders and chest:
Tatyana is afraid of the winter journey.
To be continued....
Have a nice time of day.
Pasternak's poems about autumn enchant with their style and unique description of the stormy season. Boris Pasternak shows us his autumn - in unprecedented gilding, in the reckless play of leaves.
"Gold autumn"
Looking into the lakes.
Unprecedented in gilding.
Bridal and transparent.
As if in gilded frames.
Leaves an amber trail.
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
The cold turns over the pages.
Pasternak's metaphors are bold, daring, and stunning. Metaphors run like a red thread through all of his work. What is an autumn forest? A fairy-tale palace... This is how the forest kingdom seemed to the poet. What's there in the fairy-tale palace? A golden linden hoop is a crown on a newlywed... And a lot more sensual, original things.
"Autumn" Since those days, the harsh October that chilled the foliage began to move over the depths of the park. Dawns forged the end of navigation,
My larynx was spiraling and my elbows were aching.
There was no more fog. Forgot about cloudiness. It got dark for hours. Through all the evenings Opened, in the heat, in fever and runny nose,
The sick horizon looked around the courtyards.
And the blood ran cold. But it seemed the Ponds were not getting cold, and - it seemed - since the last weather the days had not moved, and it seemed - taken out
From the world, the firmament is transparent, like sound.
And it began to be seen so far away, it was so difficult to breathe, and it was so painful to look, and such Peace spread out, and so deserted, such an unconsciously ringing peace!
It is quite difficult to imagine Pasternak's poetry without metaphors. There are many outstanding poets for whom the means artistic expression are not prevalent. And Pasternak sees the world like this. And the world is getting richer from it.
"Autumn" I let my family leave, All my loved ones have long been in disarray, And the everlasting loneliness
Everything is complete in the heart and nature.
And here I am here with you in the guardhouse. The forest is deserted and deserted. Like in a song, stitches and paths
Half overgrown...
... Even more magnificent and reckless Leaves make noise, crumble, And the cup of yesterday’s bitterness
Exceed today's melancholy.
Affection, attraction, charm! Let's dissipate in the September noise! Bury yourself in the autumn rustle!
Freeze or go crazy!..
Autumn... How much exciting, great joy this time of year brings. Pasternak knew how to see the charming in the ordinary. All autumn novelties that are subject to the gaze of man were included in his poetic chronicle.
"Bad weather" The rain made the roads swampy. The wind cuts their glass. He tears the scarf from the willows
And she cuts their heads.
Leaves flutter to the ground. People are coming from a funeral. A sweaty tractor plows the winter field
B eight disc harrows.
In the black plowed plowland Leaves fly into the pond And along the indignant ripples
The ships are sailing in a row.
Rain splashes through the sieve. The pressure of the cold is getting stronger. Everything seems to be covered in shame,
It's like a shame in autumn.
Like shame and reproach in flocks of leaves and crows, and rain and hurricane,
Whiplashing from all sides.
"Indian summer" The currant leaf is rough and fabric-like. In the house there is laughter and the glass is clinking, in it they chop, and ferment, and pepper,
And cloves are put into the marinade.
The forest is thrown like a mocker, This noise onto the steep slope, Where the hazel tree burned in the sun
As if scorched by the heat of a fire.
Here the road descends into a gully, Here are the dried old snags, And the rags of autumn are a pity,
Sweeping everything into this ravine...
"Autumn. We've lost the habit of lightning..." Autumn. We are unaccustomed to lightning. It's raining blindly. Autumn. Trains are crowded
Let me pass! Everything is behind us.
Poems about golden autumn - read
Interesting poems about golden autumn: *** The leaf is red, the leaf is yellow, But there are no green ones to be seen! The leaves changed color and began to fall together. The sun is hiding behind the clouds, gloomy rain has been pouring since the morning.
This autumn has come -
Golden time!
Autumn: The golden leaf is already falling
A golden leaf is already covering the wet ground in the forest... I boldly trample with my foot the beauty of the spring forest. Cheeks burn from the cold; I love to run in the forest, hear the branches crack, rake the leaves with my feet! I don’t have the same joys here! The forest has stripped itself of its secret: The last nut has been plucked, The last flower has been tied; The moss is not raised, not blown up by a pile of curly milk mushrooms; There are no purple lingonberry clusters hanging near the stump; For a long time on the leaves, the frost of the night lies, and through the forest the clarity of the transparent skies somehow looks coldly... The leaves rustle underfoot; Death spreads its harvest... Only I am cheerful in soul And, like a madman, I sing! I know, it was not for nothing that I picked early snowdrops among the mosses;
Down to the autumn flowers
Every flower I met. What the soul told them, What they told it - I will remember, breathing with happiness, On winter nights and days! The leaves rustle underfoot... Death lays down its harvest! Only I am cheerful at heart - And I sing like crazy!
Golden autumn has come
Golden autumn has arrived. Nature is trembling, pale, Like a sacrifice, luxuriously decorated... Here the north, driving up the clouds, Breathed, howled - and here comes the sorceress winter...
Autumn: Golden leaves are spinning
Golden foliage began to swirl in the pinkish water of the pond, like a light flock of butterflies, fading to the star. Today I am in love with this evening, The yellowing valley is close to my heart. The boy-wind, up to his shoulders, stripped his hem on the birch tree. There is coolness both in the soul and in the valley, The blue twilight is like a flock of sheep, Behind the gate of a silent garden the bell will ring and die.
Vasily Belikov “Golden Autumn”.
Autumn scatters leaves - a golden flock
Autumn scatters leaves -
Golden flock.
Not simple, golden ones. I leaf through the sheets. Flew onto the porch
Golden letter.
I sit and read.
Golden autumn outside my window
Golden autumn is outside my window, It beckons with leaves, whispers in the breeze. I’ll go out to the trees and stand alone, For some reason the pond is not happy, it has darkened slightly.
It was the autumn maple that threw it
With yellow leaves, that’s all I see there, the birch tree is quietly sad, The white-legged orphan has let down her yellow braid. I’ll stand by the birch tree and hug my sister, I’ll share the yellow melancholy with her. I will keep silent about many things, I will cover everything around, There are no barriers to mental roads. And the mischievous wind will embrace me
Throwing a golden leaf on my shoulders.
Golden autumn in the ancient park
It's golden autumn in that park
It burns with ancient gold, And a flock of desperate birds
It's flying from this autumn.
The alleys of elegant trees tear off their regal attire, and the leaves, with their constrained rustling, stubbornly continue to argue. The waters at the fountain have become quiet, Although it still gurgles, The water in the pond, already cold, stands so enchanted.
And in the distance the facade of an ancient palace is covered with fog, and someone is looking out of the window, covering half his face with a veil. I walk along the alley along the road, I meet a lancer on horseback, the Empress and the captain retreat to the background.
Oh, the ideas of a dreamer, Their price is a penny, that’s not worth it! And someone pushes you by the shoulder - Take the ticket, woman! What a pity to wake up and leave
With this golden picture!
And autumn - the girl, Ragazza, stands in front of me again.
Vasily Polenov “Golden Autumn”.
Golden autumn: Autumn swirled with leaf fall
Autumn swirled with falling leaves and shone with fragile beauty. The fogs are clinging more and more to the fields, tired and empty. And more and more often the crane-like sky cries for the past summer days. And the poplar grove froze, hugging inevitability like a sister. The whirlwind of time will not stop. Let your soul drive away sadness.
Golden autumn monstrance
I have reaped my wonderful harvest! She gathered the fruits of the weary land, paying with dew diamonds, and joined the hands of her betrothed
autumn, the time of weddings in Rus'.
So let's quickly join hands,
Let's run into the golden autumn!
Antonov apples and chilled clover at the boundary are waiting in the garden. Let's run into the crimson forest outside the city, where it smells of mushrooms and rain! And, touching the last leaf on the branch, we will gain wisdom and humility.
Golden autumn: Summer drowned like a yellow leaf in the river
I walk and feel sad alone:
Autumn is nearby somewhere.
Summer drowned like a yellow leaf in the river. I throw him my last wreath. Only summer cannot be saved,
if the day is autumn.
Golden Autumn: You are like a young girl
Golden, golden,
Gold autumn. You, like a young girl, collect leaves and herbs and braid them.
Autumn, golden autumn -
Good queen. By pouring yellow paint, you light up smiles on gloomy faces. It's a pity that the fun didn't last long - Colorful clothes. Living idly without fading is a vain hope. The sheets will fall to the ground and become covered in dust. He'll dust them with snow... And that's the end of the fun.
Autumn, golden autumn
Wait to leave, Stay for a day, Playing with the mischievous people. You are kind, sweet, beautiful and pleasant to people. We loved you, and we will not forget.
The golden grove dissuaded
The golden grove dissuaded the Berezovs, cheerful language, And the cranes, flying sadly, no longer regret anyone.
Whom should I feel sorry for? After all, everyone in the world is a wanderer - He will pass, enter and leave the house again. The hemp tree dreams of all those who have passed away With a wide moon over the blue pond. I stand alone in the middle of a naked plain, And the cranes are carried by the wind into the distance, I am full of thoughts about my cheerful youth, But I do not regret anything in the past.
Golden Autumn: Women have the kindest face in it
Autumn has a beautiful smile, She has the kindest face of women,
Happiness sparkles - joyfully, easily. The leaves lie like silk on the roads,
You will go around the familiar thresholds,
Gild the empty shores.
Shine like a magical star in the middle of the night, Please don’t rush to leave,
It’s not for nothing that poems were written to you. Your aroma swirls and intoxicates, People without wine get drunk with you, And a passing traveler will not leave you - He will appreciate you with a tender glance.
Our autumn is truly golden
Our autumn is truly golden, what else can I call it? The leaves, little by little, fly around,
They cover the grass with gold.
The sun will hide behind a cloud, then spread yellow rays. And sits crispy, fragrant,
Bread with golden crust in the oven.
Apples, cheekbones, steep, plop down every now and then,
And golden grain streams
They spilled out of the collective farm like a sea.
This golden autumn gives leaves without counting
Yellow coins are falling from the branch... There is a whole treasure underfoot!
This is golden autumn
Gives leaves without counting,
Golden gives leaves
To you, and to us, and to everyone.
Autumn is golden, where did you get this outfit?
“Autumn, golden autumn, where did you get such an outfit?”
Autumn quietly rustled:
“I always wore this!”
“Autumn, I’m not joking -
I want to wear it too!” “I won’t give you my outfit, try to turn yellow yourself.” “What are you talking about, there is no such fabric, Live at least hundreds of years!”
Hello, golden autumn
Hello, golden autumn, Hello, sad time. A flock of sad cranes has been heading south since the morning. A soft blanket of yellow leaves rustles slightly underfoot. Indian summer, a lot of thoughts. Bright colors.
Golden Autumn: Autumn. Fairytale palace
Autumn. A fairytale palace, open for everyone to see. Clearings of forest roads, looking into the lakes. Like at an exhibition of paintings: Halls, halls, halls, halls of elms, ash trees, aspens
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed. The face of a birch tree is under a wedding and transparent veil. Buried earth Under leaves in ditches, holes. In the yellow maple outbuildings, As if in gilded frames.
Where the trees stand in pairs in September at dawn, and the sunset leaves an amber mark on their bark. Where you can’t step into a ravine, So that everyone doesn’t know: It’s so raging that you can’t even take a step, There’s a tree leaf under your feet.
Where the echo sounds at the end of the alleys at the steep descent And the cherry glue of dawn hardens in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons, Where the catalog of treasures Flips through the cold.
Isaac Levitan “Golden Autumn”.
Autumn: The leaves on the birch tree burn golden
Autumn has come, our garden has turned yellow. Leaves on a birch
They burn with gold.
Do not hear the cheerful Songs of the nightingale. The birds flew away to distant lands.
Autumn: Golden, quiet groves and gardens
Golden, quiet groves and gardens, productive fields, ripe fruits. And the rainbow is not visible, And the thunder is not heard. The sun goes to bed earlier every day.
Autumn: Golden leaves are falling and flying
Golden leaves are falling and flying,
Golden leaves cover the garden.
There are a lot of golden leaves on the paths, We will make a nice bouquet out of them, We will put the bouquet in the middle of the table,
Golden autumn has come to visit us.
Golden autumn is rushing to us
In the fall of leaves, autumn will swirl, decorating the leaves yellow.
Golden autumn is rushing to us,
And he won’t ask whether we are waiting for her or not.
Autumn: Look - the grove is dressed in gold
Autumn spread paint at the edges, quietly brushed across the leaves: The hazel trees turned yellow and the maples glowed,
In the autumn purple there is only green oak.
Autumn consoles: - Don’t regret summer!
Look - the grove is dressed in gold!
Golden autumn is on the doorstep
Golden autumn is on the doorstep, The sun is shining brightly, as always, It inspired me to think about God
Autumn is a wonderful beauty.
Autumn is golden again
Again, golden autumn has come to us from afar. Birds fly away to the south, overtaking the clouds.
The world is so beautiful in autumn gold
The world is so beautiful in autumn gold, And the air is filled with the breath of the earth,
We sing of autumn with rapture,
The cranes in the sky echo us.
I'm in love with you, golden autumn
October is hurrying, playing with colors,
He will color the forests with ruby and gold,
I am in love with you, golden autumn, the beauty of my land is desired by me.
Flies into the classroom Golden autumn
And into the classrooms, into every window
Golden autumn flies in:
Either a leaf, painted long ago, will be thrown here by a tall maple, then suddenly in some window a cobweb will flash in the sun... And the sun is rummaging along the wall... An invisible grasshopper creaks.
Autumn! Golden grove!
Autumn! Golden grove!
Golden, blue, And a flock of cranes flies over the grove. High under the clouds the Geese respond, To the distant lake, to the fields They say goodbye forever.
Golden autumn of wonderful beauty
Blue sky, bright flowers,
Golden autumn of wonderful beauty.
How much sun, light, gentle warmth,
Autumn gave us this Indian summer.
We are glad to see the last warm, clear days, Honey mushrooms on the stumps, cranes in the sky. As if an artist with a bold hand
I painted the birch trees with gold paint,
And, adding red, he painted maple and aspen bushes of wondrous beauty.
It turned out to be autumn – you can’t take your eyes off it!
Who else can draw like that?
Autumn: Golden Sails
Forests are turning into painted sails.
Autumn again, leaves again
Without beginning, without end Beyond the river and at the porch. Here they are floating somewhere - sometimes back, sometimes forward. From dawn to dusk the wind tears them apart. All day long the slanting rains pull the threads through the forests, as if they were repairing painted ones,
Golden sails.
also reading:
◦ poems about the weather in autumn
◦ autumn poems for children
Autumn rode in a golden carriage
In a golden carriage, What about the playful horse,
Autumn galloped
Through forests and fields. The good sorceress changed everything: She painted the Earth bright yellow. From the sky the sleepy month marvels at the Miracle. Everything around is sparkling, Everything is shimmering.
also reading:
◦ poems about the beginning of autumn
◦ poems about late autumn
Poems about autumn - the best poems about autumn
Autumn is a “sad time...”, the favorite time of year for poets, philosophers, romantics and melancholics. Poems about autumn will “swirl” with words-winds, “drizzle” with stanzas-rains, “are dazzling” with epithets-leaves... Feel the breath of autumn in autumn poems for children and adults.
See also Poems about winterPoems about springPoems about summer
Autumn poems for children, poems by Pushkin, Yesenin, Bunin about autumn
Poems about autumn: A. S. Pushkin
It's a sad time! Ouch charm! Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me - I love the lush decay of nature, the forests dressed in crimson and gold, in their canopies the sound of the wind and fresh breath, and the skies are covered with wavy darkness, and the rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
AUTUMN
(excerpt)
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off the last leaves from its naked branches; The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing. The stream still runs babbling behind the mill, But the pond has already frozen; my neighbor hurries to the departing fields with his desire, and they suffer in the winter from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
The sky was breathing autumn, the sun was shining less often, the day was getting shorter, the mysterious canopy of the forest was revealed with a sad noise. Fog lay over the fields, a caravan of noisy geese stretched to the south: a rather boring time was approaching;
It was already November outside the yard.
Poems about autumn:
Agniya Barto
JOKE ABOUT SHUROCHKA
Leaf fall, leaf fall, The whole team rushed into the garden,
Shurochka came running.
The leaves (can you hear?) rustle:
Shurochka, Shurochka...
A shower of lacy leaves rustles about her alone:
Shurochka, Shurochka...
She swept three leaves and went up to the teacher: “Things are going well!” (I’m working hard, keep in mind, they say, Praise Shurochka,
Shurochka, Shurochka...)
How the unit works, It doesn’t matter to Shura, Just as long as it’s noted, Whether in the classroom, or in the newspaper,
Shurochka, Shurochka...
Leaf fall, leaf fall, The garden is drowning in leaves, The leaves rustle sadly:
Shurochka, Shurochka...
Poems about autumn:
Alexey Pleshcheev
Boring picture! The clouds are endless, The rain keeps pouring down, Puddles by the porch... A stunted rowan tree gets wet under the window, The village looks like a gray spot. Why are you visiting us early, Autumn? The heart still asks
Light and warmth!..
AUTUMN SONG
Summer has passed, Autumn has arrived. In the fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds have flown away, the days have become shorter, the sun is not visible,
Dark, dark nights.
AUTUMN
Autumn has come, the flowers have dried up and look sad
Bare bushes.
The grass in the meadows withers and turns yellow, only turning green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky, the sun does not shine, the wind howls in the field,
The rain is drizzling..
The waters of the Fast Stream rustled, the birds flew away
To warmer climes.
Poems about autumn:
Ivan Bunin
LEAF FALL
The forest is like a painted tower, purple, golden, crimson, a cheerful, motley wall
Standing above a bright clearing.
Birches with yellow carvings Shine in the blue azure, Like towers, fir trees darken, And between the maples they turn blue Here and there in the through foliage Clearances in the sky, like windows. The forest smells of oak and pine, Over the summer it has dried out from the sun, And Autumn is a quiet widow
Enters his motley mansion...
There are dry corn stalks in the fields,
Wheel marks and faded tops. In the cold sea - pale jellyfish
And red underwater grass.
Fields and autumn. Sea and naked cliffs. It's night and we're going to the dark shore. At sea - lethargy
In all its great mystery.
“Can you see the water?” - “I see only a mercury, misty sheen...” Neither sky nor earth. Only the shine of stars hangs below us - in the muddy
Bottomless phosphoric dust.
Poems about autumn:
Boris Pasternak
GOLD AUTUMN
Autumn. A fairytale palace, open for everyone to see. Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at an exhibition of paintings: Halls, halls, halls, halls of elms, ash trees, aspens
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden golden hoop - Like a crown on a newlywed. The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Buried earth Under leaves in ditches, holes. In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where the trees stand in pairs in September at dawn, and the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can’t step into a ravine, So that it doesn’t become known to everyone: It’s so raging, no matter what you take,
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where the echo of the steep slope sounds at the end of the alleys And the dawn of cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient corner of old books, clothes, weapons, where treasures are cataloged
The cold turns over the pages.
Poems about autumn:
Nikolay Nekrasov
UNCOMPRESSED BAND
Late fall. The rooks have flown away
The forest is bare, the fields are empty,
Only one strip is not compressed...
She makes me sad.
The ears seem to whisper to each other:
“It’s boring for us to listen to the autumn blizzard,
It's boring to bow down to the ground,
Fat grains bathing in dust!
Every night we are ruined by the villages1
Every passing voracious bird,
The hare tramples us, and the storm beats us...
Where is our plowman? what else is waiting?
Or are we worse born than others?
Or did they bloom and spike unharmoniously?
No! we are no worse than others - and for a long time
The grain has filled and ripened within us.
It was not for this reason that he plowed and sowed
So that the autumn wind will scatter us?..”
The wind brings them a sad answer:
- Your plowman has no urine.
He knew why he plowed and sowed,
Yes, I didn’t have the strength to start the work.
The poor guy is feeling bad - he doesn’t eat or drink,
The worm is sucking his aching heart,
The hands that made these furrows,
They dried up into slivers and hung like whips.
As if laying your hand on a plow,
The plowman walked thoughtfully along the strip.
Poems about autumn:
Agniya Barto
We didn’t notice the beetle And we closed the winter frames, But he’s alive, he’s alive for now, Buzzing in the window, Spreading his wings... And I call my mother for help: - There’s a living beetle there!
Let's open the frame!
Poems about autumn:
V. Stepanov
SPARROW
Autumn looked into the garden - The birds flew away. Yellow snowstorms rustle outside the window in the morning. The first ice underfoot is crumbling and breaking. The sparrow in the garden will sigh, And sing -
Shy.
Poems about autumn:
Konstantin Balmont
AUTUMN
The lingonberries are ripening, the days have become colder, and from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder.
Flocks of birds fly away, beyond the blue sea. All the trees are shining
In a multi-colored dress.
The sun laughs less often, There is no incense in the flowers. Autumn will wake up soon
And he will cry sleepily.
Poems about autumn:
Apollo Maykov
AUTUMN
A golden leaf is already covering the wet ground in the forest... I boldly trample with my foot
The beauty of the spring forest.
Cheeks burn from the cold; I love running in the forest, hearing the branches crack,
Rake the leaves with your feet!
I don’t have the same joys here! The forest has stripped itself of its secret: The last nut has been plucked,
The last flower has tied;
The moss is not raised, not blown up by a pile of curly milk mushrooms; Doesn't hang near the stump
Purple of lingonberry clusters;
For a long time on the leaves, the frost of the night lies, and through the forest it somehow looks cold
The clarity of transparent skies...
The leaves rustle underfoot; Death is laying down its harvest... Only I am happy in soul
And I sing like crazy!
I know, it was not for nothing that I picked early snowdrops among the mosses; Down to the autumn flowers
Every flower I met.
What the soul told them, What they told it - I will remember, breathing with happiness,
On winter nights and days!
The leaves rustle underfoot... Death spreads its harvest! Only I am happy at heart -
And I sing like crazy!
Autumn leaves are circling in the wind,
The autumn leaves cry out in alarm: “Everything is dying, everything is dying! You are black and naked
O our dear forest, your end has come!”
Their royal forest does not hear the alarm. Under the dark azure of the harsh skies He was swaddled with mighty dreams,
And the strength for a new spring matures in him.
Poems about autumn:
Nikolay Ogarev
IN AUTUMN
How beautiful the spring bliss was at times - And the soft freshness of the green grass, And the fragrant shoots of young leaves Along the trembling branches of the awakened oak forests, And the luxurious and warm radiance of the day, And the tender merging of bright colors! But you are closer to my heart, the autumn tides, When a tired forest blows yellowed leaves with a whisper onto the soil of a compressed field, And the sun later, from a deserted height, filled with bright despondency, looks... So the peaceful memory silently illuminates
And past happiness and past dreams.
Poems about autumn:
Alexander Tvardovsky
NOVEMBER
The tree has become more noticeable in the forest. It is tidied up before dark and is empty. And bare as a broom, clogged with mud by the dirt road, blown with ash frost,
The vine bush trembles and whistles.
Between the thinning tops
Blue appeared. Bright yellow foliage rustled at the edges. You can't hear the birds. A small broken off branch will crack, And, flashing its tail, the Light squirrel makes a jump. The spruce tree has become more noticeable in the forest, protecting the thick shadow. The last aspen boletus
He pulled his hat on one side.
Poems about autumn:
Afanasy Fet
IN AUTUMN
When the through web carries the threads of clear days And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,
We are not sad, frightened again by the breath of the approaching winter, and the voice of the lived summer
We understand more clearly.
Poems about autumn:
Fedor Tyutchev
In the original autumn there is a short but wonderful time - The whole day is as if crystal, And the evenings are radiant... The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard, But the first winter storms are still far away And the clear and warm azure is pouring
To the resting field...
Poems about autumn:
Sergey Yesenin
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare, there is fog and dampness from the water. The sun quietly rolled down like a wheel behind the blue mountains. The dug-up road sleeps. Today she had a dream, which is very, very little
All we have to do is wait for the gray winter...
Children's poems about autumn
E. Trutneva
In the morning we go into the yard - Leaves are falling like rain, rustling under our feet
And they fly... they fly... they fly...
Cobwebs fly by with spiders in the middle, and high from the ground
The cranes flew by.
Everything is flying! This must be our summer flying away.
A. Berlova
NOVEMBER Hands freeze in November: Cold, wind in the yard, Late autumn brings
First snow and first ice.
SEPTEMBER Autumn has got enough colors, She needs to paint a lot: Leaves - yellow and red,
Gray – the sky and puddles.
OCTOBER The rain has been pouring since the morning, It’s pouring as if from a bucket, And like large flowers
Umbrellas open.
M. Isakovsky
AUTUMN The crops have been harvested, the hay has been mowed, and the suffering and heat have gone away. Drowning in foliage knee-deep,
Autumn is in the yard again.
Golden shocks of straw lie on the collective farm leks. And the children of my dear friend are rushing to school.
****
A. Balonsky
IN THE FOREST Leaves swirl over the path. The forest is transparent and crimson... It’s good to wander with a basket
Along the edges and clearings!
We walk, and a golden rustle is heard under our feet. Smells like wet mushrooms
It smells like forest freshness.
And behind the foggy haze, the river shines in the distance. Spread it out in the clearings
Autumn yellow silk.
Through the needles a cheerful ray penetrated into the thicket of the spruce forest. Good for wet trees
Remove the elastic boletus!
On the hillocks, the beautiful Scarlet maples burst into flames... So many saffron milk caps, honey fungus
We'll pick it up in the grove in a day!
Autumn is walking through the forests. There is no more beautiful time than this... And in baskets we carry away generous gifts from the forest.
Y. Kasparova
NOVEMBER In November, forest animals close the doors in their burrows. Brown bear until spring
He will sleep and dream.
SEPTEMBER Birds flew in the sky. Why can't they stay at home? September asks them: “In the south
Hide from the winter blizzard."
OCTOBER October brought us gifts: The gardens and parks were painted, The leaves became like in a fairy tale.
Where did he get so much paint?
I. Tokmakova
SEPTEMBER Summer is ending, summer is ending! And the sun does not shine, but hides somewhere. And the first-grade rain, a little timid, Lines the window in an oblique ruler.
Y. Kasparova
AUTUMN LEAVES The leaves are dancing, the leaves are spinning, and they fall like a bright carpet at my feet. It’s as if they are terribly busy, Green, red and gold... Maple leaves, oak leaves, Purple, scarlet, even burgundy... I throw the leaves up at random -
I can arrange leaf fall too!
AUTUMN MORNING The yellow maple looks into the lake, Waking up at dawn. The ground froze overnight,
All the hazel is in silver.
The belated saffron milk saffron cowers, pressed down by a broken branch. On his chilled skin
The light drops tremble.
Scaring away the alarming silence In the lightly dormant forest, cautious moose roam,
They gnaw the bitter bark.
****
M. Sadovsky
AUTUMN The birches unbraided their braids, the maples clapped their hands, the cold winds came,
And the poplars were flooded.
The willows by the pond drooped, the aspen trees began to tremble, the oak trees, always huge,
It's like they've become smaller.
Everything became quiet. Shrunk. Drooped. Turned yellow. Only the beautiful Christmas tree has become prettier for winter ****
O. Vysotskaya
AUTUMN Autumn days, There are large puddles in the garden. The last leaves
The cold wind swirls.
There are yellow leaves, There are red leaves. Let's put it in a wallet
We are different leaves!
It will be beautiful in the room, Mom will say “thank you” to us!
****
Z. Alexandrova
TO SCHOOL Yellow leaves are flying, The day is cheerful. Sees off kindergarten
The kids are going to school.
Our flowers have faded and the birds are flying away. - You are going for the first time,
Study in first grade.
Sad dolls sit on an empty terrace. Our cheerful kindergarten
Reminisce in class.
Remember the vegetable garden, the river in the far field. We, too, will be at school with you in a year.
Parsnip poems about autumn
We offer you beautiful autumn poems by B. Pasternak. Each of us knows well from childhood Pasternak's poems about autumn, and someone reads them to their children and grandchildren. These poems are included in school curriculum for different classes.
Short poems about autumn by Pasternak help not only to develop speech and memory, but also to get acquainted with the beautiful season of autumn.
Golden Autumn - poems by Boris Pasternak
Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Autumn (I let my family leave.) - Boris Pasternak
I let my family leave,
All loved ones have long been in disarray,
And the everlasting loneliness
Everything is complete in the heart and nature.
And here I am here with you in the guardhouse.
The forest is deserted and deserted.
Like in a song, stitches and paths
Now we are alone with sadness
The log walls look out.
We did not promise to take barriers,
We will die openly.
We'll sit down at one and get up at three,
I'm with a book, you're with embroidery,
And at dawn we won’t notice,
How to stop kissing.
Even more magnificent and reckless
Make noise, fall off, leaves,
And a cup of yesterday's bitterness
Exceed today's melancholy.
Affection, attraction, charm!
Let's dissipate in the September noise!
Bury yourself in the autumn rustle!
Freeze or go crazy!
You also take off your dress,
Like a grove shedding its leaves,
When you fall into a hug
In a robe with a silk tassel.
You are the blessing of a disastrous step,
When life is sicker than illness,
And the root of beauty is courage,
And this draws us to each other.
Boris Pasternak - Indian Summer
The currant leaf is rough and fabric-like.
There is laughter in the house and the glass is clinking,
They chop it, and ferment it, and pepper it,
And cloves are put into the marinade.
The forest is abandoned like a mocker,
This noise on a steep slope,
Where is the sun-burnt hazel tree?
As if scorched by the heat of a fire.
Here the road descends into a gully,
Here and dried old driftwood,
And I feel sorry for the rags of autumn,
Sweeping everything into this ravine.
And the fact that the universe is simpler,
What does the cunning man think otherwise?
It’s like a grove has been lowered into water,
That everything comes to an end.
That it's pointless to bat your eyes,
When everything in front of you is burned
And autumn white soot
A cobweb pulls out the window.
The passage from the garden in the fence is broken
And gets lost in the birch forest.
There is laughter and economic hubbub in the house,
The same hubbub and laughter in the distance.
Boris Pasternak - Autumn forest
And here autumn is spinning again...
My dear readers, autumn is here again... And today I have an article for you for the soul. I want to invite you to read beautiful poems about autumn.
Let's not be sad, but just take a little break from the bustle of life, maybe we'll dream about something, remember something for ourselves, and be filled with autumn colors.
And for those who are in the midst of summer, perhaps the mood will be closer in my article Waves of summer to the beat of the heart
Our time only moves forward. I don’t know how your weather is, but here we already feel like autumn. And the rains began, and it was already so cool in the morning, there was no longer that juicy and green freshness, the expectation of change began. And I already want to wrap myself in something warm, drink a hot cup of tea and read something for the soul.
To begin with, I want to invite you to play a melody very quietly, just in a soft background, and enjoy the mood from the authors of the poems. If music bothers or distracts someone, you can return to it after reading. Ernesto Cortazar's composition Autumn Rose is playing. Softly, soulfully, a little sadly, perhaps music flows for all of us.
Beautiful sincere poems about autumn
Autumn. Why are there so many poems on the autumn theme? Have you ever thought? Perhaps we are running out of simple words, and we want to express them in poetic lines... Perhaps... In them we will hear romanticism and tenderness, sadness and purity, hope and lyricism.
Classic poems about autumn
We will begin our autumn walk with the poems of A.K Tolstoy, written in 1874.
Transparent clouds calm movement...
Transparent clouds calm movement,
Taking on the light of the sun like a haze,
Either pale gold, or soft blue shadow
Colors the distance. A quiet greeting to us
A peaceful autumn is coming. No sharp outlines
There are no bright colors.
The earth has survived
It's time for luxurious forces and powerful tremors;
The aspirations have subsided; different beauty
Replaced the previous one; jubilant summer
No longer warmed by strong rays,
Nature is all full of the last warmth;
There are still flowers along the damp interstice,
And in the empty fields there are dried epics
Enmeshes in a network of trembling webs;
Whirling slowly in the calm forest,
Yellow leaf after leaf falls to the ground...
September 1874
And here are some poems from Fyodor Tyutchev and Alexei Tolstoy.
There is an initial autumn...
There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...
The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...
Autumn. Our whole poor garden is crumbling,
Yellowed leaves are flying in the wind;
They only show off in the distance, there, at the bottom of the valleys,
The brushes are bright red withering rowan trees.
My heart is happy and sad,
Silently I warm and squeeze your little hands,
Looking into your eyes, I silently shed tears,
I don't know how to express how much I love you.
A. Tolstoy
And here is the continuation of poems about autumn from Boris Pasternak.
Here it is autumn, summer has died down,
She retreated, proudly slamming the door.
Wash off the fun of ultraviolet light,
I'm infected with red-yellow laziness.
I obey, hardly regretting,
Holidays get tired over the years,
I feel a hundred times better now
The rustle of fallen leaves underfoot.
Come on, don't mind anything,
Don't scold the rainy weather,
In the flaming alleys of the park
Today I am gaining freedom.
Golden autumn
Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Buried Land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
The cold turns over the pages.
Soulful beautiful poems about autumn by modern poets
Before us are poems about autumn from Eugenia Renard. Wonderful lines, so much in them. And our dreams, and autumn, special aromas that cannot be confused with anything else, these are the colors of autumn. In a word, what we call in a simple word"Autumn".
Autumn is the time to dream
Autumn is the time to dream and watch colorful dreams,
Wash down the cold with the best jasmine tea,
Do not experience spleen or false feelings of guilt
The fact that the rain doesn’t upset me at all!
Autumn is the time for umbrellas that have long stagnated in the corner.
Time for new raincoats, boots in multi-colored checkered patterns -
To personally find out the depth and number of puddles,
Instead of sighing sadly and missing the past summer.
Autumn is the time of poetry with the inevitable presence of phrases
About a dull season, falling leaves, the vagaries of the weather...
Autumn is a reason to think, feel “here” and “now”,
And, of course, to love contrary to all the laws of nature!
© Copyright: Evgenia Renard, 2012
And then we will listen to the autumn silence in the cozy poem “Autumn Candles” by Larisa Kotovskaya. Perhaps this is a reason to light candles, read something spiritual and be alone with your loved ones and dear people. You don't have to wait for a reason...
Autumn candles
Larisa Kotovskaya
Do you want silence? Enter Autumn!
It’s quiet, gentle and very cozy here,
no words needed, here you can be silent
after all, autumn is an evening by candlelight.
We don’t wait for autumn, we don’t tell it
hello, she's kind, she's beautiful,
we enter autumn with our hearts in the morning,
spinning in the dance of leaves in the wind.
And suddenly it seems that everything will return,
like tender youth, love under the sun,
that time is just a game
and life will begin again in the morning.
But autumn will fly by with fallen flowers
and scorched by hope without an answer,
What's the use of words, isn't it better to remain silent?
after all, autumn is an evening by candlelight...
It’s a nice reason to have a candlelit evening and read poetry, right? And then we will listen to the music of the winds. A poem with musical notes from Svetlana Pugach.
Remind me, autumn, the music of the winds
Svetlana Pugach
Remind me, autumn, the music of the winds,
Play a tune - simple and ingenious,
As you can - everything without further ado,
Light, solemn, and a little sad.
Draw tenderness on the window with rain,
Dripping drops into the palms,
Be merciful and warm to me,
Let bad weather not touch your eyes with tears.
In the fire of autumn sacrificial bonfires
Burning dying leaves
Keep your inherent goodness
And the wisdom of old, not forgotten truths.
Don't get lost in the dank darkness
Minutes short, rare, but happy,
Be true to love and beauty,
Mudra in a feminine way, eternally patient.
I breathe you in with the fibers of my soul
And my heart freezes for a moment,
With my hand, autumn, write
A poem that resonates with you.
© Copyright: Svetlana Pugach, 2013
Passionately happy wine autumn
Do you think that autumn can only be sad? Let's read the lines of Elena Koida. It turns out that she can be so passionately happy...
***
Throwing light silk over my shoulders,
Covering up the lovely places.
Slutty autumn dozed
Knees exposed to the wind.
She slept, forgetting her worries,
No one dared to wake her.
And the wind is quiet along the way
I had to tiptoe around.
He walked for a day, the second and the third,
Then I couldn’t contain my impulse.
And Autumn, noticing his ardor,
Covering your eyes with your palm
She clung to him with her tender body,
And gave in to ardent feelings.
Oh, wind, what have you done!
Autumn was alarmed by passion!
Autumn burst into tears of happiness,
Rivers of tears are running everywhere.
And the wind carries away like a cloud,
A shock of red hair.
@ Elena Koida
And now we see the intoxicating wine aromas of warm autumn. Author of poems Bondaruk Olesya.
Wine autumn
This warm wine autumn
Intoxicates with its beauty,
And among the stillness of the pines
The birch leaf rings golden.
These groves are like an oasis in the steppe,
Like a priceless gift for everyone,
Like shrines, like temples, like relics,
As a rite that atones for sin.
Autumn dresses them up in outfits,
Gives them dresses of delicate colors,
They sing ballads to them goodbye
Birds for which the path is ready.
Walks in these groves are leisurely,
The aroma of autumn reigns in them,
In them dreams and thoughts are sinless,
You don’t feel the bitterness of loss in them.
Autumn in the groves is as soft as velvet,
Autumn in the groves beckons and intoxicates,
Back to the pines, like monarchs
Autumn gives gold leaves.
Come enjoy the beauty
Come, just get up from sleep,
Drink in the clean air of the forest,
Like a sip of expensive wine.
This warm wine autumn
She's not sad, she's not sad
Wander between the birches and pine trees,
And she will help you forget everything.
Cleanse tired souls
The scent given to her
Admire how airy that forest is,
Its beauty is stronger in autumn.
Forgetting about the difficult things between the pines,
Renewing my soul here,
Ah, wonderful wine autumn,
I'm singing this song to you!
Autumn has a beautiful smile
Elena Stepanova.
Autumn has a beautiful smile
She has the kindest face of a woman,
And in her dresses, embroidered with gold,
Happiness sparkles - joyfully, easily.
The leaves lie like silk on the roads,
Children are wandering in the autumn park,
You will go around the familiar thresholds,
Gild the empty shores.
Shine like a magical star in the middle of the night,
Please don't rush to leave
After all, you are beautiful golden autumn,
It’s not for nothing that poems were written to you.
Your aroma is spinning and intoxicating,
People without wine get drunk with you,
And the passing traveler will not leave -
He will evaluate you with a tender glance.
Gold foliage under your feet,
I left without shame,
Marking with a golden fire,
Everything that happened in life before you.
You came without knowing sorrow,
Scorched my soul to the bottom,
And with your gentle hands,
The world rocked in flames of fire.
The fire tongues were falling from the branches
The word is bright - fiery sunset,
Many have given their hearts to you,
For a playful - cunning, red-haired look.
Do you know what autumn leaves smell like?
Elena Olkhovik
Do you know what autumn leaves smell like?
Falling into the grass on a sunny day?
The tenderness of summer and the freshness of thoughts,
The spice of the star, the silver of the moon
With a linden taste, slightly sweet,
The astringency of maple and the ligature of oaks...
Rainbow of summer sunrises and sunsets
They reflect the sun's Love...
Do you know what autumn leaves smell like?
What if the rain wet them in September?
The smell of mystery and the eternity of truths -
Everything that Mother Earth gives,
As if preparing for a long hibernation
And covers himself with a shawl of leaves...
The rain will pour down on it abundantly, which means
The Earth will drink the infusion before winter...
You know, there are many threads in Nature,
Tied tightly into a single pattern,
But in a series of these bright events
Autumn is pleasing to the eye in its own way.
Go outside on an autumn evening,
Take a deep breath of that aroma
And for the time being the long-awaited spring
Keep these days somewhere in your soul...
Do you remember the song “Autumn, she won’t ask, autumn, she will come” performed by Garik Sukachev? And what wonderful lines of poetry there are. They were written by Irina Levinzon, then she was 17 years old.
Autumn
Irina Levinzon
Autumn - she won’t ask
Autumn - it will come.
Autumn is a question
The blue eyes will freeze.
Autumn will rain,
It will be covered with leaves...
Along empty beaches
He will wander slowly.
Maybe you'll notice
The red sadness of foliage,
Maybe you can answer me
What do you remember?
Or this sky
Blue like water?...
Why haven't you been before?
Didn't come here?
Let me not dream about summer,
I'll smile at you.
And somewhere under the eyebrows
Sadness lurks a little.
Somewhere beyond the blue of the springs
Someone will be sad...
Autumn falls silently
Leaves on the way...
Rare emotional poems about the autumn of the Grand Duke, Konstantin Romanov
Fleeting dreams flashed by!
Carefree days are gone!
- Like birch leaves in autumn,
They sped away unnoticed.
Everything bitter in the past has been lived through
With my aching soul,
Even if for a moment it was forgotten by me
Among these cloudless days...
But the end of the lush summer,
A gray winter is already threatening us,
And in place of both the heat and the light
Cold and darkness are coming.
Get back to work again
And take on the labor feat:
Be prepared for both sadness and care
Meet again with a brave soul.
Crimson maple, purple elm,
Golden birch…
How painful it was in my heart
Autumn colors are a threat to me!
Nature's rainbow outfit
And the shine and luxury of decay
They say with humble sadness,
That the time to say goodbye is near.
Farewell to summer and warmth,
And linden trees with faded leaves,
What, falling in golden rain,
They rustle in the alley underfoot.
And with your bright beauty,
Birch, maple and lilac elm,
Until the days when you live a new life
You will wait for a new spring.
This is how we had our autumn walk. I hope that you and I had a pleasant time, plunged into the world of poetry, and read heartfelt poems about autumn. We should wait, we shouldn’t wait for autumn, but it comes anyway. Most people are happy about it. But some... just need to be happy about it...
Wish us, Autumn, quiet and clear days,
A little bit of luck, some sunshine in destiny!
So that our hopes are not in vain,
The wind would howl less often in the chimney.
Wish us, Autumn, faith and patience,
News of good, good changes!
Do not hastily deprive your heart of inspiration,
Protect from sadness, pain, and problems.
Give us, Autumn, wisdom and strength,
A little bit for everyone, just don’t be sorry!
Don't let the rains make us sad sometimes,
The grayness of benches in the silence of the alleys.
Sprinkle an armful of leaves, make your wishes come true,
We love your colors, smell and rains!
Don't listen, Autumn, to our lamentations,
We hear your steps! Just come!
Golden autumn in poetry and music
My soul sings the autumn blues
Autumn. Rainy mood
Gold autumn. Leaf sculptures
Photos from around the world about golden autumn
I wish everyone purity, inner happiness, harmony and new colors of life. We too will be filled with the happiness of autumn. Not to be sad, but to be filled, that’s what I wish for all of us from the bottom of my heart.
All in your hands. About success in quotes and aphorismsRussian autumn in the works of Isaac LevitanSo much sun! How much light! Poems about summer for children Leaves are whispering and music is heard... The waves of summer are in time with the beat of the heart... And the music of flowers is flowing... Let poems about flowers give you the mood
I
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
II
Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I’m sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.
I'm happier in the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!
III
How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,
Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is finally true for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century
We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids
Or sour by the stoves behind double glass.
IV
Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.
You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,
You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;
Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -
We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,
And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,
We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.
V
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,
There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,
I found something in her like a wayward dream.
VI
How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
The color of his face is still purple.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.
VII
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
VIII
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I’m full of life again - that’s my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).
IX
They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,
Waving his mane, he carries the rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it
Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.
X
And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
XI
And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
So the motionless ship slumbers in the motionless moisture,
But choo! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.
XII
Floating. Where should we go?
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Analysis of the poem “Autumn” by Alexander Pushkin
It is widely known which season was Pushkin’s favorite. The work “Autumn” is one of the most beautiful poems dedicated to autumn in all Russian literature. The poet wrote it in 1833, during his stay in Boldino (the so-called “Boldino Autumn”).
Pushkin acts as a talented artist, painting an autumn landscape with great skill. The lines of the poem are imbued with great tenderness and love for the surrounding nature, which is in a phase of withering. The introduction is a first sketch of the picture: falling leaves, first frosts, hunting trips with hounds.
Next, Pushkin depicts the remaining seasons of the year. At the same time, he lists their advantages, but focuses on the disadvantages. The description of spring, summer and winter is quite detailed; the author resorts to humorous, rude remarks. Signs of spring - “stench, dirt.” Winter seems to be full of many joyful events (walks and fun in nature), but it lasts unbearably long and “even the den dweller” gets tired of it. Everything is fine in the hot summer, “yes there is dust, yes mosquitoes, yes flies.”
Having made a general overview, Pushkin, as a contrast, moves on to a specific description of the beautiful autumn season. The poet admits that he loves autumn strange love, similar to the feeling for the “consumptive maiden”. It is precisely for its sad appearance, for its fading beauty, that the autumn landscape is infinitely dear to the poet. The phrase, which is an antithesis, “” has become a catchphrase in the characteristics of autumn.
The description of autumn in the poem is an artistic model for the entire Russian poetic society. Pushkin reaches the heights of his talent in using expressive means. These are various epithets (“farewell”, “lush”, “wavy”); metaphors (“in their hallway”, “winter threat”); personifications (“dressed forests”).
In the final part of the poem, Pushkin proceeds to describe the state of the lyrical hero. He claims that only in the fall does true inspiration come to him. Traditionally, for poets, spring is considered a time of new hopes and the awakening of creative forces. But Pushkin removes this restriction. He again makes a small playful digression - “this is my body.”
The author devotes a significant part of the poem to visiting the muse. In description creative process you can also feel the hand of a great artist. New thoughts are an “invisible swarm of guests” that completely transform the poet’s loneliness.
In the finale, the poetic work is presented by Pushkin in the image of a ship ready to sail. The poem ends with the rhetorical question “Where should we sail?” This indicates an infinite number of themes and images that arise in the mind of the poet, who is absolutely free in his creativity.
Olga Ganina
Music room for children preparatory group and parents “Autumn time... the charm of the eyes”
Target:
1 Learn to listen attentively verse music, convey the mood using musical sounds and colors.
2 Expand the understanding of the poetry of A. S. Pushkin, music P. I. Tchaikovsky, about paintings autumn landscapes.
Good evening, my dear friends! Today we will meet with amazing poems "the sun of Russian poetry" A. S. Pushkin, and with music the great Russian composer P. I. Tchaikovsky. And we will begin, of course, with the poems of our favorite poet, poems that have long been familiar and unfamiliar to us.
I really want you to listen to those poems by Pushkin about different times years that have already been discussed in our lessons. And I want you to listen closely music verses of works still unfamiliar to us, we would remember them and love them.
For each season, Alexander Sergeevich found such words, drew such images that forever sunk into the memory and soul of readers. It's easy to forget them impossible: “Under the blue skies with magnificent carpets, glistening in the sun, the snow lies...”, or “With a clear smile, nature greets the morning of the year through a dream”, "I died autumn chill, the road is freezing...", and more, more...
Each time of year corresponds to a certain mood, which can be conveyed using musical sounds.
And with each in the fall I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart...
Pushkin repeated more than once, both in prose and in verse, that autumn– his favorite time of year. in autumn he wrote best and most of all, it came to him "inspiration", special condition.
And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
Please listen to excerpts from Alexander Sergeevich’s poems about autumn. I tried to take verses that you have not yet encountered or are unfamiliar with.
1. The red summer is withering;
Clear days are flying away;
A stormy fog is creeping in
Nights in the slumbering shadow;
The grassy fields are empty;
The playful stream is cold;
The curly forest has turned grey;
The vault of heaven turned pale.
2. ...It has arrived golden autumn.
Nature is tremulous, pale,
How the victim is lavishly decorated...
3. Already autumn's cold hand
The heads of birch and linden trees are bare,
She rustles in the empty oak groves,
A dead leaf swirls there day and night,
There is fog on the yellowed fields,
And an instant wind whistle is heard.
4. Days of late autumn people usually scold,
But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her.
The poet writes about only one season, about autumn. And what different pictures! Each month has its own colors. This is the beginning autumn, and gold autumn, and later. Autumn days. It seems that the poet wants to infect the reader with his special love for autumn.
And again we turn to you music.
"Seasons" P.I. Tchaikovsky.
Remember the name of the composer whose portrait you see on the slide.
Children - P.I. Tchaikovsky.
That's right, guys. Pyotr Ilyich internally felt the world of nature, heard it music, enjoyed her silence. Autumn filled his soul with quiet and joyful sensations. As you can see, not only A.S. Pushkin loved this time of year, but also Tchaikovsky, with his magical sounds, took us into the world autumn moods. Guys, let's remember which works of A. S. Pushkin inspired Tchaikovsky. What works of the poet did he write for? music?
Now you will hear the play « Autumn Song» . I won't say which of the three autumn months associated with this name, you decide for yourself. In poems about autumn you saw her very much different: beautiful, sad, and magical. Listen to the character music and tell, which musical images, as well as mood, gives birth music by Tchaikovsky(sounds « Autumn Song» Tchaikovsky).
1. Nature was waiting for winter.
Snow only fell in January
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatiana saw through the window
In the morning the yard turned white,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
There are light patterns on the glass,
Trees in winter silver,
Forty merry ones in the yard
And softly carpeted mountains
Winter is a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything is white all around.
2. Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The sorceress winter is coming.
She came and fell apart; shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees;
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter.
3. Sad forest and withered valley,
The day will come and it will be dark,
And, like a belated traveler,
A storm is knocking on our window...
4. What a night! Frost is bitter,
There is not a single cloud in the sky;
Like an embroidered canopy blue vault
Replete with frequent stars.
Pushkin's poetry captivates the reader. You can read again and again and become more and more immersed in the beauty and harmony of Pushkin’s verse.
On the three
(based on music by Tchaikovsky"Seasons")
Early in the morning the troika gallops, the bells ring,
And all around is white and clean, snow sparks are flying.
A little man sits in a sheepskin coat, urges horses,
A gentleman with a lush beard rides noisily from guests.
“Have fun, Petrusha!” the master shouted. “But look!”
There, near the forest, from the slope, you won’t end up in a ravine!”
The whip flew over Petrusha, he whistled as hard as he could,
And the daredevils rushed off, the snow turning behind the sleigh.
The headwind stings your cheeks, your nose hurts in the cold,
The Russian soul burns from a dashing ride in a troika.
Here comes the forest! The slender ones stand like a wall of marvelous pine trees.
Everything is covered in snow, and the shady forest is enveloped in winter freshness.
The troika under Petrusha's whip continues to run fast,
The bells send their silver laughter throughout the area.
What’s not fabulous about birch trees and their round dances around?
A hare with long ears gallops at full speed.
A squirrel jumps along the branches, fluffing its red tail.
These winter pictures are just begging to be put on canvas.
The sun breaks its ray between the snow-covered branches,
This means that the trio will soon be greeted by the beauty and vastness of the fields.
“Hush, Petka, don’t blaspheme! The winds sing a song to the fields,
There the earth sleeps under a blanket of snow, keep it cozy.”
You can’t measure the breadth of space, you can’t measure the depth of heaven,
Whoever knows this with his soul will not leave these places.
Ahead the road winds along snow-covered fields,
The sun sends its silver rays from the horizon.
The fresh air gives you vigor, you can’t stop the rush of feelings,
The troika gallops along the road, everything has been given to her.
The village appeared, it was swept away in the snowstorm.
“Have fun, Petrusha! They are waiting for us at home for the pie!”
Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky born 25.04 1840 The great Russian comrade very much loved native nature. He could walk for hours through forests and fields. These walks gave Pyotr Ilyich great pleasure. He admired everything he saw around him myself: and mighty trees, and small white lilies of the valley, and blue sky, and bright butterflies.
IN autumn days Pyotr Ilyich wandered through the forest, along the rustling carpet of fallen yellow leaves and looked for porcini mushrooms under the birch and spruce trees. He liked it cold autumn time when a frequent light rain drizzles for a long time, and the wind howls angrily in the chimney. He expressed the mood and feelings inspired by pictures of nature in his music.
There are two autumn. One is joyful, lushly decorated, rich in harvest, and the other, invisible in itself, in the rags of falling leaves, sad, with the quiet cry of fine rain, in a word, that Cinderella, which in Russia we call late in autumn.
Now let's enjoy the pictures autumn, so different and beautiful! (on the picture screen autumn, sounds music P. I. Tchaikovsky "Seasons").
Dear friends! I know that and music and poetry that were heard today will remain in your memory for a long time. And so, I ask you when you come home, draw this beautiful, this different autumn, and the guys and I will listen to stories about these drawings during class, okay?
Everyone - Agreed!
The concert is over
The music suddenly stopped.
But is it?
It seems to be sounding now
And it will be for a long, long time
Still sound for each of us.
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!...
Alexander Pushkin
It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
And distant gray winter threats.
Autumn morning
Alexander Pushkin
There was a noise; field pipe
My solitude has been announced,
And with the image of a mistress draga
The last dream has flown away.
The shadow of the night has already rolled down from the sky.
The dawn has risen, the pale day is shining -
And all around me is desolate desolation...
She's gone... I was off the coast,
Where my dear went on a clear evening;
On the shore, in the green meadows
I didn't find any barely visible traces,
Left by her beautiful foot.
Wandering thoughtfully in the depths of the forests,
I pronounced the name of the incomparable;
I called her - and a solitary voice
Empty valleys called her into the distance.
He came to the stream, attracted by dreams;
Its streams flowed slowly,
The unforgettable image did not tremble in them.
She's gone!.. Until sweet spring
I said goodbye to bliss and to my soul.
Already autumn's cold hand
The heads of birch and linden trees are bare,
She rustles in the deserted oak groves;
There a yellow leaf spins day and night,
There is fog on the chilled waves,
And an instant wind whistle is heard.
Fields, hills, familiar oak groves!
Keepers of sacred silence!
Witnesses of my melancholy, fun!
You are forgotten... until sweet spring!
The sky was already breathing in autumn...
Alexander Pushkin
The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she stripped herself,
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.
Autumn
Alexander Pushkin
October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.
Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I am sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.
I'm happier in the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!
How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,
Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is finally true for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century
We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids
Or sour at the stoves behind double glass.
Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.
You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,
You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;
Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -
We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,
And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,
We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.
How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
There is still a crimson color playing on the face.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.
It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I'm full of life again - that's my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).
They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,
Waving his mane, he carries the rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it
Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.
And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.
And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
So the motionless ship slumbers in the motionless moisture,
But choo! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.
The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,
There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,
I found something in her like a wayward dream.
“That year the autumn weather...”
That year the weather was autumn
I stood in the yard for a long time,
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting.
Snow only fell in January...
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin, chapter 5, stanzas I and II)
"Golden autumn has come"
Golden autumn has arrived.
Nature is tremulous, pale,
Like a sacrifice, luxuriously decorated...
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and there she was,
Winter sorceress is coming..
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”, chapter 7, stanzas XXIX and XXX)