Russian classics about nature. Poems about Russian nature. Yesenin about nature

Nature with its beauty
Doesn't allow me to remove the cover,
And you won’t force her with cars,
What your spirit will not guess.

Vladimir Solovyov

Nature is the same Rome and is reflected in it.
We see images of his civic power
In the transparent air, like in a blue circus,
In the forum of fields and in the colonnade of groves.

Nature is the same Rome, and, it seems, again
There is no need for us to bother the gods in vain, -
There are the insides of victims to guess about the war,
Slaves to remain silent and stones to build!

Osip Mandelstam

I love people, I love nature,
But I don't like to go for walks,
And I know for sure that the people
My creations cannot be understood.

Satisfied with little, I contemplate
What ungenerous fate gives:
Elm tree leaning against the barn
Forest-covered hillock...

No harsh glory, no persecution
I don’t expect it from my contemporaries
But I trim the lilac bushes myself
Around the terrace and in the garden.

Khodasevich Vladislav

About how good nature is
People don't speak often
Under this blue sky,
Above this pale blue water.

Not about the sunset, not about the swell,
What shines silver in the distance -
People talk about fish
About rafting timber down the river.

But, looking from the steep shore
On the pink surface,
Sometimes he will say one word,
And this word is “Grace!”

Samuel Marshak

Containing all the essences of nature,
I was her mouth and mind;
I read all the symbols in it, all the letters,
And I spoke to God for her...
She, dumb, only felt
And I alone possessed two gifts:
In my mouth I carried the diamond of the living word,
And in the head there is a ray of eternal truths, a thought!..
I comprehended the incomprehensibility of time
And penetrated all the essences of things,
And he embraced space with his consciousness...
I was drowning in the harmony of the universe
And reflected the universe in itself.

Fedor Glinka

Not what you think, nature:
Not a cast, not a soulless face -
She has a soul, she has freedom,
It has love, it has language...

Fyodor Tyutchev

From nature, the intercessor of all,
There are stones and there are clouds,
Like children, loving both these and those,
Heavy - like those, like these - light.

Freeze her autumn flow -
How to lie with your face buried in the wall.
Plant a moth on her flower -
How to wave your hand, shrug your shoulders.

She can’t destroy herself otherwise!
Will fall under a terrible burden, my friend.
But for every stone there is a cloud -
I thought, looking around.

And I also thought: how easy the essence is
Dandelions, swallows, herbs!
It's better to blow a bitter pipe,
How to prove to everyone that you are right.

It’s better to hold a twig between your lips,
How to look for an exact answer.
In our lives, sorrows, words
This lightness is what is missing!

Kushner Alexander

There's a change in nature again,
the color of the greens is rough,
and stands arrogantly
figure of a white mushroom.

And this garden is
all the skies and all the forests,
and my choice blesses
only three favorite faces.

By the light of a lamp he dies
blind body of moth
and stains his fingers with gold,
and the hand disdains this.

Oh, Lord, how this summer
there is great peace in my soul.
So the rainbow has too much color
there is no reason to wish for anything else.

So complete circle
enclosed in itself
and an extra touch is unnecessary
she is unenviable and funny.

Bella Akhmadulina

There is infinite nature
Secret dreams
Overshadowed by the eternal
The power of beauty.

There is a magical ether
Shadows and lights
Not of the world, but for the world
They were born.

And are powerless in front of them
Brushes and cutters.
But with living harmonies
Prophetic singers

They catch them and bring them in
On the tablet of centuries.
And it doesn’t shine, and it doesn’t mow
The time of these dreams.

And while the flicker burns
In the spell of existence:
"Whisper. Timid breathing
The trill of a nightingale"

And bye to the holy arts
The light rejoices,
Will be dear to tender feelings
Inspirational Fet.

Fofanov Konstantin

Nature! Man is your creation
and this honor will not be taken away from you,
but put him on his feet on all fours
and the man of the ancestor did the work.
Work... Is there anything more persistent and winged!
The mountains are submissive to people, the fury of the rivers.
Who in our working age is in discord with difficulty,
he is not a person for us even now.

Stepan Shchipachev

There is no bad weather -
Every weather is a blessing.
Whether it rains or snows - any time of year
We must gratefully accept

Echoes of mental storms,
There is a seal of loneliness in the heart,
And the sad shoots of insomnia
We must gratefully accept

We must accept it gratefully.

The death of desires, years and adversity -
Every day the load becomes more and more unbearable,
What is assigned to you by nature?
We must accept it gratefully.

Change of years, sunsets and sunrises,
And love's last grace,
As well as the date of your departure
We must gratefully accept

We must accept it gratefully.

There is no bad weather,
The passage of time cannot be stopped.
The autumn of life, like the autumn of the year,

We must bless without grieving,
We must bless without grieving.

Andrey Petrov

Nature's rough eloquence
I will find solace.
She has a human soul
And it will open on the move.

Warm trees are close to me,
Prayers to the east
In a land still biblically ancient,
Where the day, like a person, is cruel.

Where the world, like the soul, is cooled
Cover of permafrost,
Where the soul doesn't need peace at all
And she hates flowers.

Where is the cyclopean eye
So rarely looks at people
Where are they waiting for the prophet to appear?
Soldier, hermit and villain.

Varlam Shalamov

I don't look for harmony in nature.
Reasonable proportionality began
Neither in the depths of the rocks, nor in the clear sky
Unfortunately, I still couldn’t tell the difference.

How capricious is her dense world!
In the fierce singing of the winds
The heart does not hear the correct harmonies,
The soul does not sense harmonious voices.

But in the quiet hour of autumn sunset,
When the wind ceases in the distance.
When, embraced by the weak radiance,
Blind night will descend to the river,

When, tired of the violent movement,
From useless hard work,
In an anxious half-sleep of exhaustion
The darkened water will calm down,

When a huge world of contradictions
Satiated with fruitless play, -
Like a prototype of human pain
From the abyss of water rises before me.

And at this hour sad nature
Lying around, sighing heavily,
And she doesn’t like wild freedom,
Where evil is inseparable from good.

And she dreams of the shiny turbine shaft,
And the measured sound of reasonable labor,
And the singing of trumpets, and the glow of the dam,
And live wires.

So, falling asleep on my bed,
Crazy but loving mother
Concealed within itself high world children,
To see the sun with my son.

Nikolay Zabolotsky

Alone with nature, independent
From all philosophical obstacles,
Magic I hear a chime
Tall pines and deciduous trees.
Me and nature. No intermediaries!
And even if you bring down all the mountains on me,
I will not accept annoying silver coins
For leaving this wilderness.
The blind become sighted here,
The deaf are able to hear here,
It's as if we started thinking for the first time
Outside the tight shackles of dates and separations.

Rurik Ivnev

Wider, chest, open up to receive
Feelings of spring - minute guests!
Open your arms to me, nature,
So that I merge with your beauty!

You, high sky, distant,
Boundless expanse of blue!
You, wide green field!
My soul strives only for you!

Ivan Bunin

In the silent conversation of nature,
Among meadows, fields, forests
There are sounds of slavery and freedom
In the great choir of voices...

Crowns of all Ivan-da-Marii,
Veronique, Kashek and Carnation
They go to the haystacks, to the large herbarium,
Each one has lost its face!

Often visible in mowing areas,
Near the tired mowers -
Sit on rakes and scythes
Singers of air fields.

They sing about the wonderful dreams of May,
About happiness, about living love,
They sing without noticing at all
The instruments of death are beneath you!

Sluchevsky Konstantin

Russian nature

You stood by my cradle,
I heard your songs half asleep,
You gave me swallows in April,
Through the rain the sun smiled at me.

When sometimes the forces changed
And the bitterness of tears burned my heart,
You spoke to me like a sister
The leisurely rustle of birch trees.

Aren't you the one under the storms of alluvial misfortune?
She taught me (remember those years?)
Grow into native land like pine trees
Stand and never bend?

In you lies the greatness of my people,
His souls are endless fields,
Thoughtful Russian nature,
My worthy beauty!

I look into your face - and all the past,
I see the whole future in reality,
You in an unexpected storm and in peace,
Like a mother's heart, I call.

And I know - in this spiky expanse,
In forest expanses and river floods -
The source of strength and everything in this world
My inspired life will yet come to an end!

Vsevolod Rozhdestvensky

Neither evil nor bloody enmity
Until now they could not outshine
We are the majestic palace of the sky
And the beauty of the flowering land.

We are greeted with the same kindness
Valleys, flowers and streams,
And the stars still shine
Nightingales sing about the same thing.

Doesn't know our sadness
Mighty, mysterious forest,
And there's not a single wrinkle
On the clear azure sky.

Dmitry Merezhkovsky

What to do? I'll sit on a stone
I'll listen to the orioles cry.
I wander around the boarded-up boards,
Residents of abandoned dachas.

Not even a year has passed yet,
How their steps fell silent in the distance.
But it seems nature is happy,
That people left here.

Neighbors in the night unnoticed
The fences were torn down for firewood,
On smooth croquet courts
The grass is growing, turning green.

Forgetting the recent owners,
The whole house became decrepit and stalled,
On the walls, on the roofs, on the shutters
Moss is already coming through.

Yes, greenery, climbing wildly,
To the threshold of the clogged path,
Strawberries are blooming everywhere,
That in the old days I didn’t want to grow up.

And if it happened in birdhouses
The starlings had difficulty settling in,
Nowadays from the spring finches
There is real sodom in the garden!

Here, it seems, since our century
The savages of the century have passed...
How fast are human traces
Nature's hand erases!

Dmitry Kedrin

There is joy and peace in my soul,
It's good to be visiting nature,
The ringing cry of a cuckoo across the river
He is counting the years of my life.

The grass is green as emerald,
The willows lowered their branches into the water,
And the cuckoo is right in counting the years,
A fine day is a happy hour in life.

Beauty is everywhere, from all sides,
There is gilding on the water from the sun,
Songbirds cheerful chime
I want to hear endlessly.

I drink joy from the beauty of the river,
Enjoying the emerald meadow,
On fine summer days
The river is good, a friend of the soul.

Depth in the river or shallow,
I look into the water in awe,
Joy intoxicates like hops,
I will come again to visit nature.

Bolutenko Anatoly

The neighborhood thinks in poetry,
But we don't understand the words.
It waxes and wanes
Crazy rhythm of the winds.

Carrying the rains to the smoky shore,
Trumpeting into the bells of shells,
The seas compose hymns for themselves -
And they listen to themselves.

And mountain streams jump
Over ledges and boulders,
Repeating intermittent lines, -
But all we can hear is the roar.

Only on the day of farewell, at the hour of departure,
In a moment of parting silence
Not noises, but poetry of nature,
Perhaps everyone can hear it.

Both thunder and rustling are intertwined in them
Into a verbal living thread, -
In those secret lines that
We will have nowhere to disclose it.

Shefner Vadim

Everything from the old pine tree by the fence
To the big dark forest
And from the lake to the pond -
Environment.
And also a bear and a moose,
And the kitten Vaska, I suppose?
Even a fly - wow! –
Environment.
I love the silence on the lake
And in the pond reflections of the roofs,
I love picking blueberries in the forest,
I love the badger and the fox...
I love you forever,
Environment!

Fadeeva L.

The leaves are green, it's time for joy,
Wonderful dreams and dreams,
Autumn leaves, the bitterness of loss,
They fell to the ground from the birches.

In May, birches gave hope,
The eyes were green,
And in October we lost our clothes,
The time of loss is now.

Gold generously decorated the crowns,
The beauty quickly disappeared
The cold wind's menacing moans
Leaves are always plucked.

A great loss will not last forever,
Will restore in full again
Instead of marvelous autumn gold
Greenery on the branches in spring.

Cycles go on in trees as usual,
The leaves turn yellow, and let
Everything is created perfectly by nature:
It will give joy or sadness.

Bolutenko Anatoly

I like the glow of the dew
Ladybug miracle on a blade of grass,
The soul always becomes kinder with beauty,
I love watching magical pictures.

The river spreads out like a mirror,
And an imperceptibly powerful current,
Clouds run along it, like in a fairy tale,
You look and feel inspired.

I don't need an artificial idol,
There are extremely many of them in nature,
I look at the world with surprise
And I always invisibly see God in him.

How much space there is everywhere:
Spruces and poplars grow,
Here are the colors of the carpets-patterns
They weave on the ground under the sky.

How many white birch trees are there?
Linden, bird cherry and rowan,
Orioles gentle melodies
And the jasmine around is intoxicating.

Here is the pearl of the steppe,
My childhood cradle!..
The branches speak as they sway,
The dawn is spreading...

So many colors, so much summer!!!
And the bumblebee is buzzing about something.
And the planet flies, flies,
Opening the door of happiness for me.

I will walk through the grass in the dew,
I'll touch the dawn
And the wheat fields,
Like Earth bracelets.

Look, it’s boundless...
The living world has opened our eyes!..
He's so playful
He welcomes us gladly.

I live in it, love, dream,
The best color I turn...
The stars twinkle in silence...
How I treasure this!..

Yatsura L.

Rivers of mighty water delight,
Wonderful meadow and pine forest,
Joy in the manifestations of nature,
The beauty of heaven touches the soul.

Beauty is a source of inspiration,
And nature is a true friend,
To be with her is a passionate desire,
After all, her beauty is always around.

If trouble or doubt comes,
And the soul will cool down like ice,
To quickly improve your mood,
You need to drink nature’s wonderful honey.

The beauty of nature brings sweetness to the soul,
She can touch hearts,
Returns or gives joy,
There is no end to the graces of nature.

Both mountains and valleys are pleasing,
Meadow, fields, river, pine forest,
Pictures dear to the soul,
Nature has an abyss of miracles.

Bolutenko Anatoly

Natural phenomena

You must have heard once,
That nature also breathes.
And believe me, every breath
She's not that bad!
How does rain walk through puddles?
How does the cold creak in winter?
How does hail knock on the roof?
How does the waterfall roar?
How does the fire crackle in the fireplace?
How long does the wind whistle? —
If you're a master at listening,
Then - let's go! So…

The loudest sigh in the world -
It's the WIND!
“Whew!” - dry wind flies
Over the expanses of the steppes.
“Boohhhhhhh!” - a hurricane rumbles
In the distant state of Michigan.
“Eww!” - a storm hit
To seaside Magadan.
The sigh of nature - the singing of the wind!..
But always according to the mood.

A cloud flew across the sky -
She kept getting fatter and fatter.
And then to our delight
It burst loudly at the seams.
“Bang-bang-bang!” - THUNDER struck,
And the rain poured down like a bucket.

“Pschi-sch-sch-sch!” - well, look,
RAIN blows bubbles!
They mince through the puddles,
Torn apart from the inside.
A moment, and a torrential downpour
Turned into MUSHROOM RAIN,
Because because of the clouds
The beam broke through mischievously.
“Drip-drip-drip!” - and the rain is tired...
A moment, and it stopped dripping...

Hush hush…
You do not hear -
HAIL drumming on the roof?
Water falls from the sky
In the form of ice beads:
“Duk-duk-duk-duk! Duk-duk-duk! –
Everyone fled around.

Quiet morning first SNOW
Lay down like a whitish carpet
“Hrum-hum-hum!” - started running
Legs and wheels.
And painted the carpet
Fresh traces...
And our frost is cunning -
Delays the cold weather.
And tomorrow the first snow
Turns into puddles...
This is how a person gets wet
Until the December cold.

Deafening noise
Walking around the area:
“Crash-tu-duh-tudu-dum!”
ICE DRIVE on the river!
Awakening, the river,
After winter sleep
Bared her sides -
Because it's spring!

From a high mountain
To the blue valley
“Goo-goo! Goo-goo-goo-goo!” –
AVALANCHE is rushing!
Been there all winter
Warmed by white snow -
But she took off her fur coat
Mountain before summer.

From the mountain
fountain gushes
From fire and smoke.
This is formidable
VOLCANO!
Pass by!
“Pfuhhhh!” –
on steep slopes
Lava flows down...
Life
with such a phenomenon -
Really, it's not fun!

Stunning cascade
Performs WATERFALL!
Down the high stairs
The river jumps deftly:
“Plop-plop-plop!” – with a dashing leap –
And there is no more beautiful jump!

In my neighboring mountains
The interlocutor appeared.
There is no more interesting conversation:
"Hey buddy, what's up?"
He composes a song in response:
“LA...
LA...
la...
la..."
“Who plays hide and seek with me,
Humming from above?
The stranger answers:
"YOU…
YOU…
You…
You…"
“Who echoes me?
What fun!”
"ECHO…
ECHO…
echo…
echo…"

Behind the wave - the wave -
White lambs -
Started playing after sleep
In tag-tag...
“Sh-sh-shush-sh...” - one after another,
Rejoicing and arguing...
“Sh-sh-shush-sh...” - composes SURF
A song about the SEA.

With a match: “Tear!”, and then there’s a flame
It danced in front of us.
Burning, crackling and sharp
At the edge of the forest there is a fire.
“Schik-schik-schik!” - firewood crackles.
That's all he said.

The SWAMP quietly slurps:
“Smack-smack!
Smack-smack!
Someone is probably sitting in it...
Let's say, an ancient old man.
He's sipping heavily
Your swampy gull
He is toothless and entertaining:
“Smack-smack!
Smack-smack!

This section presents poems about nature by the classics of Russian poetry, as well as some of my poems. The poems about nature by Tyutchev, Bunin and Yesenin are very remarkable - these are sensitive masters the world

, with the original manner inherent in each.

I never cease to admire these poems, and therefore I include them in this section.
Poems about nature
The last cloud of the scattered storm!
Alone you rush across the clear azure,

You alone cast a dull shadow,
You alone sadden the jubilant day.

You recently hugged the sky,
And lightning wrapped around you menacingly;
The hotter the day, the sweeter it is in the forest
Breathe in the dry, resinous aroma,

And I had fun in the morning Wander through these sunny chambers!,
Glitter everywhere, everywhere
bright light
The sand is like silk... I’ll cling to the gnarled pine

And I feel: I’m only ten years old,
And the trunk is a giant, heavy, majestic.
The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.

But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?
There is a tired tenderness in Russian nature,
The silent pain of hidden sadness,

The hopelessness of grief, voicelessness, vastness,
Cold heights, receding distances.
Come at dawn to the slope of the slope, -
Coolness smokes over the chilly river,

The bulk of the frozen forest turns black,
And my heart hurts so much, and my heart is not happy.
Through the wavy mists
The moon creeps in

To the sad meadows
She sheds a sad light.

On the winter, boring road
Three greyhounds are running,
Already a hot ball of the sun
The earth rolled off its head,
And peaceful evening fire
The sea wave swallowed me up.
The bright stars have already risen
And gravitating over us

The vault of heaven has been lifted
With your wet heads.
The fields are compressed, the groves are bare,
Water causes fog and dampness.

Wheel behind the blue mountains
The sun went down quietly.

The dug-up road sleeps.
Today she dreamed
I love the storm in early May,
When spring, the first thunder,
As if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky.

* * *
Young peals thunder,
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying,
No wonder winter is angry,
Her time has passed-
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.
And everything started to fuss
Everything forces Zima to get out -

And larks in the sky
And in the spring the waters are noisy -
They run and wake up the sleepy shore,
They run and shine and shout...

They say all over:
"Spring is coming, spring is coming!

* * *
The earth still looks sad,
And the air already breathes in spring,
And the dead stalk in the field sways,
And the oil branches move.
Nature hasn't woken up yet,
But through the thinning sleep
She heard spring
And she involuntarily smiled...

Let the pines and spruce
They hang around all winter,
In snow and blizzards
Wrapping themselves up, they sleep, -
Their skinny greens,
Like hedgehog needles
At least it never turns yellow,
But it’s never fresh.

Poems about nature and seasons

Poems about nature are, first of all, beautiful and kind poems that distract from the worries of life and give a feeling of peace and tranquility.

I have always been fascinated by beautiful poems about nature, about the seasons, about various natural phenomena.

Poems about nature A lot of poems have already been written about nature. After all, nature is what evokes our admiration for its beauty and unpredictability. Although in our age of progress, we pay less and less attention to nature, especially those who live in

big cities
, works in offices and watches TV in the evenings. But still, nature is our common home, and we need to protect it and take care of it.
FIELD
The field spreads out like a wavy fabric
And merged with the sky as a dark blue edge,
And in the transparent sky a golden shield
The brilliant sun shines above him;
Like the sea, the wind blows through the fields
And the hills are covered with white fog,
He's talking about something furtively with the grass.
And boldly makes noise in the golden rye.
I am alone... And freedom in my heart and thoughts...
Here is my mother, friend and mentor - nature.
And life seems brighter ahead for me,
When to your powerful, wide chest
She tolerates me like a baby

And it pours part of its strength into my soul.
// I. Nikitin
NATIVE LANDS
Wide, free,
Birthplaces...
White birch,
My favorite,
Stands like a white candle,
She looks around:
The ripe rye nods to her,
The meadow bows to her.
It's so nice and sunny all around,
Everywhere you look
Quietly above the lake
The reeds sway.
They float along the narrow channel
Ducklings in a row.
Love Russian nature,

God bless you, my reader!
//E. Serov
IMATRA
It's boiling and noisy. She is still the same
Her spirit hasn't changed!
Granites, sleeping on guard,
She curses out loud.
And, throwing blocks of their waters
In depth, white and foamy,
From the edge of the stones to the edge,
She has one desire.
What's here? dragons of ancient mane?
Mad herds of bison?
Your menacing roar, your twists
They fly, still the same, through the years.
Indomitability, immutability,
The desire to break your captivity
Burn through the unsteady instantaneity,
Goody, gray whirlpool,
Let me believe that I am the same too
I stand above the strife of the former waters!
//IN. Bryusov

RUSSIAN FOREST
There's nothing sweeter
Wander and think here.
Heals, warms,
Feed the Russian forest.
And the thirst will torment you,
That's a little forest guy for me
Among the thorny thickets
The fontanel will show.
I’ll bend over to him to get a drink -
And you can see everything to the bottom.
Water flows,
Tasty and cold.
Rowan trees are waiting for us in the forest,
Nuts and flowers,
Fragrant raspberry
On dense bushes.
I'm looking for a mushroom clearing
I, without sparing my legs,
And if I get tired -
I'll sit down on a tree stump.
There's a goblin wandering around here somewhere
With a green beard.
Life seems different
And my heart doesn't hurt
When over your head,
Like eternity, the forest is noisy.
//WITH. Nikulin

ABOUT HOW GOOD NATURE IS
About how good nature is
People don't speak often
Under this blue sky,
Above this pale blue water.
Not about the sunset, not about the swell,
What is silver in the distance -
People talk about fish
About rafting timber down the river.
But, looking from the steep shore
On the pink surface,
Sometimes he will say one word,
And this word is “Grace!”
//WITH. Marshak

TAIGA TRAFFIC LIGHT
At the crossroads of two paths,
The day has barely cleared up,
In a washed raspberry
A green light flashed.
The passerby did not slow down,
I looked and knew I was walking!
But when summer got stronger
And the dawn became more elegant,
On thin wires of branches
Raspberries lit
Yellow light.
Having noticed him, a pedestrian
Slowly slowed down.
Taiga is spacious - not a city,
But miracles happen here:
Yesterday under a red traffic light
We stood there for half an hour!
//T. Belozerov

RUSSIAN NATURE
You stood by my cradle,
I heard your songs half asleep,
You gave me swallows in April,
Through the rain the sun smiled at me.
When sometimes the forces changed
And the bitterness of tears burned my heart,
You spoke to me like a sister
The leisurely rustle of birch trees.
Aren't you the one under the storms of alluvial misfortune?
She taught me (remember those years?)
Grow into your native land like pine trees,
Stand and never bend?
In you lies the greatness of my people,
His souls are endless fields,
Pensive Russian nature,
My worthy beauty!
I look into your face - and all the past,
I see the whole future in reality,
You in an unexpected storm and in peace,
Like a mother's heart, I call.
And I know - in this spiky expanse,
In forest expanses and river floods -
The source of strength and everything in this world
My inspired life will yet come to an end!
//IN. Christmas

RUSSIAN RAZDOLE
Russian field, expanse,
Where the grass is not cut,
There's a sea of ​​chamomile,
And over the sea there is blue.
There is a boundless carpet of flowers
Bright, gentle and wide,
And sways in the open field
The grass is a light breeze.
There the grass grows waist-deep,
No paths, no roads.
And what a joy it is
Wander there for at least an hour.
Look into the eyes of daisies,
Smile at the cornflowers,
Delicate pink flower
Clover clings to my feet.
Bells, carnations,
Ivan-tea and St. John's wort-
Everything is blooming and fragrant
Filled with dew.
The splendor of summer herbs,
Can't compare you to anything
Unsolved mystery
Beauty understandable to everyone.
// I. Butrimova

BEREZKA GROWS IN VOLGOGRAD
You were also born in Russia -
field and forest edge.
In every song we have a birch tree,
birch - under every window.
In every spring meadow -
their white live round dance.
But there is a birch tree in Volgograd -
you will see and your heart will skip a beat.
She was brought from afar
to the edges where the feather grass rustles.
How hard it was for her to get used to it
to the fire of the Volgograd land!
How long has she been sad
about light forests in Rus' -
the guys are lying under the birch tree, -
ask them about this.
The grass under the birch tree is not crushed -
no one rose from the ground.
But how does a soldier need it?
so that someone would grieve over him.
And he cried - as bright as a bride,
and remembered - forever, like a mother!
You were also born a soldier -
Don't you understand that?
You were also born in Russia -
birch, sweet land.
Now, wherever you find a birch tree,
you will remember my birch tree,
its silent branches,
her patient sadness.
A birch tree grows in Volgograd.
Try to forget it!
//M. Agashina

BIRCH
In the spruce forest everything is discreet,
Its tones are muted.
And suddenly a white birch tree
Alone in a gloomy spruce forest.
It is known that death in public is easier.
I saw it myself an hour ago,
How it began in a distant grove
Cheerful, friendly leaf fall.
And here she drops leaves
Away from loved ones and friends.
Like fire in a misty thicket
It's light for a hundred steps around.
And it’s incomprehensible to the dark spruce trees,
To those gathered even more closely:
What with her? After all, we grew green together
Recently. What's wrong with her?
And now they are thoughtful, serious,
As if looking down at the ground,
Above the fading birch tree
They stand in silence.
//IN. Soloukhin

Nature inspired man to create works of art at all times. Poems about the nature of their native land were written by poets of antiquity and modern authors. Even in exile or emigration, famous poets remembered the nature of their homeland and created works about it.

We have collected for you the best poems about nature. This list will be useful to those who are at school or kindergarten I was asked to learn beautiful poems. If you are going on a long journey, poems about Russian nature will remind you of your native places. Additionally, nature poems allow us to take a little trip through our imagination. Residents of big cities often forget about the beauty of the Russian countryside, about nature in the forests or in the most distant but beautiful corners of our big country.

In our selection:

• Poems about Russian nature
• Pushkin's poems about nature
• Poems about nature by Russian poets
• Poems about nature for children

Not only Russian poems about nature are interesting, but also works by foreign authors. We may never go to Italy, but we will be able to stroll through the streets of Naples thanks to poetry. Surprisingly, but true: many poets who wrote about the nature of distant countries never left hometown. But the power of our imagination is such that we can imagine unfamiliar places by reading about them in poetry and prose.

We have separately highlighted the poems of A.S. Pushkin about nature, because they are closest to the Russian people, resonate in his heart and sound powerful and modern, despite the fact that they were written many years ago. Much changes, but there are eternal and beautiful things - the nature of our fertile and picturesque land always remains worthy of being sung in poetry.

Poems about Russian nature

Evgeny Baratynsky

Spring, spring! How clean the air is!
How clear is the sky!
Its azuria alive
He blinds my eyes.

Spring, spring! how high
On the wings of the breeze,
Caressing the sun's rays,
Clouds are flying!

The streams are noisy! the streams are shining!
Roaring, the river carries
On the triumphant ridge
The ice she raised!

The trees are still bare,
But in the grove there is a decaying leaf,
As before, under my foot
And noisy and fragrant.

Soared under the sun
And in the bright heights
The invisible lark sings
A cheerful hymn to spring.

What's wrong with her, what's wrong with my soul?
With a stream she is a stream
And with a bird, a bird! murmuring with him,
Flying in the sky with her!

Why does she make her so happy?
And sun and spring!
Does she rejoice, like the daughter of the elements,
Is she at their feast?

What needs! Happy is whoever is on it
Oblivion of thought drinks,
Who is far from her
He, marvelous, will take it away!

Sergey Yesenin

Blizzard

Spin, days, your former yarn,
A living soul cannot be rebuilt forever.
No!
I'll never get along with myself,
To myself, my beloved,
I'm a stranger.

Peeling maple
With its black top
Nasal hoarsely
To the sky about the past.
What kind of maple is it?
He's just a pillory -
I would hang it on it
Or give it up for scrapping.

And the first
I need to be hanged
With my arms crossed behind my back,
For the fact that the song
Hoarse and sick
I disturbed my sleep
Native country.

I do not like
Rooster crows
And I say
What if it were in force,
Then everyone would like roosters
I tore out the guts
That they
They didn't cry at night.

But I forgot
That I myself am a rooster
Screaming with all his might
Before the dawn of the region,
Trampling on my father's covenants,
Worried at heart
And in verse.

The blizzard is screaming
It's like a boar
Whom they were going to kill.
Cold,
Ice fog,
You won't understand
Where is the distance
Where nearby...

The moon, probably
The dogs ate -
It's been a long time since
Can't see it in the sky.
Pulling the thread from the tow,
With spindle
The mother is conducting the conversation.

Deaf cat
Listens to that conversation
Hanging from the couch
An important chapter.
No wonder they say
Shy neighbors
What does he look like
To a black owl.

Eyes close together
And how I squint them,
I see it clearly
From a fairy tale time:
The cat paws at me
Shows the muzzle,
And the mother is like a witch
From the Kyiv mountain.

I don't know if I'm sick
Or not sick
But only thoughts
They wander around randomly.
In the ears of the grave
The sound of shovels
With the sobbing of distant
Bell tower.

Yourself deceased
I see in the coffin.
To the hallelujah
Sexton's lamentations
I'm dead forever
I'm going lower
Laying on them
Two copper patches.

With this money
From dead eyes
The gravedigger will become warmer, -
I'm buried
It's the same time
He'll kill himself like a fool.

And he will say loudly:
“What an eccentric!
He's in life
I went on a rampage...
But I couldn’t overcome
Five pages
From Capital.

December 1924

Golden leaves swirled

Golden leaves swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond,
Like a light flock of butterflies
Freezingly, he flies towards the star.

I'm in love this evening,
The yellowing valley is close to my heart.
The wind boy up to his shoulders
The hem of the birch tree was stripped.

Both in the soul and in the valley there is coolness,
Blue twilight like a flock of sheep,
Behind the gate of the silent garden
The bell will ring and die.

I've never been thrifty before
So did not listen to rational flesh,
It would be nice, like willow branches,
To capsize into the pink waters.

It would be nice, smiling at the haystack,
The muzzle of the month chews hay...
Where are you, where is my quiet joy -
Loving everything, wanting nothing?

***
Winter sings, echoes...

Winter sings and echoes,
The shaggy forest lulls
The ringing sound of a pine forest.
All around with deep melancholy
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.

And there's a snowstorm in the yard
Spreads a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful,
Like lonely children,
Huddled by the window.

The little birds are cold,
Hungry, tired,
And they huddle tighter.
And the blizzard roars madly
Knocks on the hanging shutters
And he gets angrier.

And the tender birds are dozing
Under these snowy whirlwinds
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Beautiful spring.

***
Winter

Autumn has already flown away
And winter came rushing.
As if on wings, she flew
Suddenly she is invisible.

Now the frosts are crackling
And all the ponds were shackled.
And the boys screamed
“Thank you” to her for her efforts.

Here are the patterns
On glass of wondrous beauty.
Everyone turned their gaze
Looking at this. From high

Snow falls, flashes, curls,
Lays down like a white veil.
Here the sun is blinking in the clouds,
And the frost sparkles on the snow.

***
Spring evening

The silver river flows quietly
In the kingdom of evening green spring.
The sun sets behind the forested mountains,
A golden horn emerges from the moon.

The West is covered with a pink ribbon,
The plowman returned to the hut from the fields,
And beyond the road in the birch thicket
The nightingale sang a song of love.

Listens affectionately to deep songs
From the west the dawn is like a pink ribbon.
Looks tenderly at the distant stars
And the earth smiles at the sky.

***
Sunrise

The red dawn lit up
In the dark blue sky,
The lane appeared clear
In its golden shine.

The sun's rays are high
Reflected light in the sky.
And scattered far away
There are new ones in response.

The rays are bright golden
The earth suddenly lit up.
The skies are already blue
Spread around.

***
Bird cherry

Bird cherry fragrant
Bloomed with spring
And golden branches,
What curls, curled.
Honey dew all around
Slides along the bark
Spicy greens underneath
Shines in silver.
And nearby, by the thawed patch,
In the grass, between the roots,
The little one runs and flows
Silver stream.
Fragrant bird cherry,
Having hung himself, he stands,
And the greenery is golden
It's burning in the sun.
The stream is like a thunderous wave
All branches are doused
And insinuatingly under the steep
Sings her songs.

Pushkin's poems about nature

Autumn

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 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!

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
Days late autumn they usually scold
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!
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 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?
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .

Winter morning

Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!

In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now... look out the window:

Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.

And I feel: I’m only ten years old,
And the trunk is a giant, heavy, majestic.
The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.

Sliding on the morning snow,
Dear friend, let's indulge in running
impatient horse
And we'll visit the empty fields,
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.

Cloud

I never cease to admire these poems, and therefore I include them in this section.
Poems about nature
The last cloud of the scattered storm!
Alone you rush across the clear azure,

You alone cast a dull shadow,
You alone sadden the jubilant day.
And you made mysterious thunder
And she watered the greedy land with rain.

Enough, hide! The time has passed
The earth was refreshed and the storm passed,
And the wind, caressing the leaves of the trees,
He's driving you out of the calm heavens.

Magic land

...Magic land! a delight to the eyes!
Everything is alive there: hills, forests,
Amber and yakhont grapes,
The valleys are a sheltered beauty,
And the streams and poplars are cool...
All the traveler's senses beckon,
When, at a serene hour in the morning,
In the mountains, along the coastal road
His usual horse runs,
And greening moisture
Before him it shines and makes noise
Around the Ayu-Dag cliffs...

You are spoiled by nature

You are spoiled by nature;
She was partial to you
And our eternal praise
It seems like a boring ode to you.
You yourself have known for a long time,
That it’s no wonder to love you,
That with your tender gaze you are Armida,
That you are a Sylph with ease,
What are your scarlet lips,
Like a harmonious rose...
And our rhymes, our prose
There is noise and bustle before you.
But beauty is a memory
Secretly touches our hearts -
And lines of careless outline
I humbly add it to your album.
Perhaps as a keepsake involuntarily
The one who sang you will come to you
In those days like Presnenskoye Field
There was no fence yet.

Land and sea

When across the blue seas
Zephyr glides and blows quietly
In the sails of proud ships
And he cherishes the boats on the waves;
Worries and thoughts add up,
Then I'm more lazy when I'm lazy -
And I forget the songs of the muses:
The sweet sound of the sea is dearer to me.
When will the waves hit the shores?
They roar, boil and splash foam,
And thunder roars across the skies,
And lightning flashes in the darkness, -
I'm moving away from the seas
To the hospitable oak trees;
The earth seems truer to me
And I feel sorry for the stern fisherman:
He lives on a fragile boat,
The game of the blind abyss.
And I'm in safe silence
I listen to the sound of the valley stream.

What a night! Frost is bitter,
There is not a single cloud in the sky;
Like an embroidered canopy, a blue vault
Replete with frequent stars.
Everything in the houses is dark. At the gate
Locks with heavy locks.
People are buried everywhere;
Both the noise and the shout of the trade died down;
As soon as the yard guard barks
Yes, the chain rattles loudly.

And all of Moscow is sleeping peacefully,
Forgetting the excitement of fear.
And the square in the twilight of the night
It's standing, full of yesterday's execution.
A fresh trail of torment all around:
Where is the corpse, chopped up on a grand scale,
Where is the pillar, where is the pitchfork; there are boilers,
Cooled down full of resin;
There is an overturned block here;
Iron teeth stick out,
With bones, piles of ashes smolder,
On stakes, crouching, dead
The numb ones turn black...
Recently there is blood on all sides
The skinny stream of snow turned purple,
And a languid groan rose,
But death touched them like a dream,
She captured her prey.
Who's there? Whose horse is at full speed
Rushing across the menacing square?
Whose whistle, whose loud conversation
Is it heard in the darkness of the night?
Who is this? - He's a daring guy.
He's in a hurry, he's flying to a date,
Desire boils in his chest.
He says: “My horse is dashing,
My faithful horse! fly like an arrow!
Hurry, hurry!..” But the horse is zealous
Suddenly he waved his braided mane
And so he did. In the darkness between the pillars
On an oak crossbar
The corpse was rocking. Rider is harsh
I was ready to rush under it,
But the greyhound horse struggles under the whip,
Snores and snorts and tears
Back. "Where? my horse is dashing!
What are you afraid of? What happened to you?
Weren't we jumping here yesterday?
Were we not the ones who trampled furiously?
Diligent revenge of grief,
Dashing traitors to the king?
Isn't it their blood that washed them?
Your damask hooves!
Now don’t you recognize them?
My greyhound horse, my daring horse,
Rush, fly!..” And the horse is tired
He galloped into the pillars.

Shining among the wide fields,
There it is pouring!.. Hello, Don!
From your distant sons
I brought you a bow.

Like an illustrious brother,
The rivers know the quiet Don;
From Araks and Euphrates
I brought you a bow.

Having rested from the evil pursuit,
Feeling my homeland,
The Don horses are already drinking
Arpachai stream.

Prepare, dear Don,
For dashing riders
The juice is boiling, sparkling
Your vineyards.

The Terek rushes between the mountain walls,
The wild shore is washed away by the waves,
Bubbling around huge rocks,
Here and there he digs a road,
Like a living beast, roars and howls -
And suddenly he calmed down and became humble.

Lower and lower, falling lower,
He's running away barely alive.
So, after the storm, exhausted,
The stream flows like rain.
And then it was revealed
Its siliceous bed.

Cold winds are still blowing
And the morning frosts bring
Fresh from the spring thawed patches
Early flowers appeared;
As if from a wonderful kingdom of wax,
From fragrant honey kelley
The first bee flew out
Flew over early flowers
To find out about the red spring,
Will there be a dear guest soon,
Will the meadows soon turn green?
Soon will the curly birch tree
Sticky leaves will bloom,
The fragrant bird cherry will bloom.

Poems about nature by Russian poets

Fedor Tyutchev

Not what you think, nature:
Not a cast, not a soulless face -
She has a soul, she has freedom,
It has love, it has language...
_________________

You see the leaf and color on the tree:
Or did the gardener glue them?
Or the fetus is ripening in the womb
The play of external, alien forces?..
_________________

They don't see or hear
They live in this world as if in the dark,
For them, even the suns, you know, do not breathe,
And there is no life in the sea waves.

The rays did not descend into their souls,
Spring did not bloom in their chests,
The forests didn't speak in front of them
And the night in the stars was silent!

And in unearthly tongues,
Wavering rivers and forests,
I didn’t consult with them at night
There is a thunderstorm in a friendly conversation!

It's not their fault: understand, if possible,
Organa life of the deaf and dumb!
Soul him, ah! won't alarm
And the voice of the mother herself!..

No wonder winter is angry,
Her time has passed -
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.

And everything started to fuss
Everything forces Winter to get out -
And larks in the sky
The ringing bell has already been raised.

Winter is still busy
And he grumbles about Spring.
She laughs in her eyes
And it just makes more noise...

The evil witch went crazy
And, capturing the snow,
She let me in, running away,
To a beautiful child...

Spring and grief are not enough:
Washed my face in the snow
And she only became blusher,
Against the enemy.

There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...

Where the cheerful sickle walked and the ear fell,
Now everything is empty - space is everywhere, -
Only a web of thin hair
Glistens on the idle furrow.

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...

The snow is still white in the fields,
And in the spring the waters are noisy -
They run and wake up the sleepy shore,
They run and shine and shout...

They say all over:
"Spring is coming, spring is coming,
We are messengers of young spring,
She sent us ahead!

Spring is coming, spring is coming,
And quiet, warm May days
Ruddy, bright round dance
The crowd cheerfully follows her!..”

Look how the grove turns green,
drenched in the scorching sun -
And there’s such a feeling of bliss in her
From every branch and leaf!

Let's go in and sit over the roots
Trees fed by a spring -
Where, surrounded by their darkness,
He whispers in the mute darkness.

Their peaks loom above us,
Immersed in the midday heat -
And only sometimes the cry of an eagle
It reaches us from above...

How cheerful is the roar of summer storms,
When, throwing up the flying dust,
A thunderstorm that has swept in like a cloud,
Will confuse the blue sky
And recklessly and madly
Suddenly he runs into the oak grove,
And the whole oak grove will tremble
Broad leaves and noisy!..

As if under an invisible heel,
Forest giants bend;
Their peaks grumble anxiously,
Like conferring with each other, -
And through sudden anxiety
The bird whistle is continuously heard,
And here and there the first yellow leaf,
Spinning, it flies onto the road...

Through the azure darkness of the night
The Alps look snowy -
Their eyes are dead
They reek of icy horror -
They are fascinated by some power,
Before the Dawn rises
Dormant, menacing and foggy,
Like fallen kings!..

But the East will only turn red,
The disastrous spell ends -
The first one in the sky will brighten
The elder brother's crown.
And from the head of big brother
A stream runs on the smaller ones,
And shines in crowns of gold
The whole resurrected Family!..

Afanasy Fet

Dawn says goodbye to the earth,
Steam lies at the bottom of the valleys,
I look at the forest covered in darkness,
And to the lights of its peaks.

How imperceptibly they go out
The rays go out at the end!
With what bliss they bathe in them
The trees are their lush crown!

And more and more mysterious, more immeasurable
Their shadow grows, grows like a dream;
How subtle at dawn
Their light essay is exalted!

As if sensing a double life
And she is doubly fanned, -
And they feel their native land,
And they ask for the sky.

Sounded over the clear river,
It rang in a darkened meadow,
Rolled over the silent grove,
It lit up on the other side.

Far away, in the twilight, with bows
The river runs to the west.
Having burned with golden borders,
The clouds scattered like smoke.

On the hill it is either damp or hot,
The sighs of the day are in the breath of the night, -
But the lightning is already glowing brightly
Blue and green fire.

It's still light in front of the window,
The sun shines through the gaps in the clouds,
And the sparrow with its wing,
Swimming in the sand, it trembles.

And from heaven to earth,
The curtain moves, swinging,
And as if in gold dust
Behind it stands the edge of the forest.

Two drops splashed onto the glass,
The linden trees smell of fragrant honey,
And something came to the garden,
Drumming on fresh leaves.

Learn from them - from the oak, from the birch.
It's winter all around. Cruel time!
In vain their tears froze,
And the bark cracked, shrinking.

The blizzard is getting angrier and every minute
Angrily tears up the last sheets,
And a fierce cold grabs your heart;
They stand, silent; shut up too!

But trust in spring. A genius will rush past her,
Breathing warmth and life again.
For clear days, for new revelations
The grieving soul will get over it.

What an evening! And the stream
So it breaks.
Like a nightingale dawning
It's ringing out!

Moon with light from above
I drenched the fields,
And in the ravine the shine of water,
Shadow and willow.

To know that the dam has been leaking for a long time:
The boards are rotten, -
And you can’t help but lie down here
On the railing.

This is how everything lives in the spring!
In the grove, in the field
Everything trembles and sings
Involuntarily.

We'll shut up in the bushes
These choirs -
They will come with a song on their lips
Our children;

And not children, this is how they will pass
With a song grandchildren:
They will come down to them in the spring
Same sounds.

The lake fell asleep; the forest is silent;
A white mermaid swims casually out;
Like a young swan, the moon among the skies
It glides and contemplates its double on the moisture.

The fishermen fell asleep near the sleepy lights;
The pale sail does not move a fold;
Sometimes a heavy carp splashes among the reeds,
Letting a wide circle run through the smooth moisture.

How quiet... I hear every sound and rustle;
But the sounds of the silence of the night do not interrupt, -
Let the nightingale's live trill be bright,
Let the grass sway on the mermaid's water...

Like the first golden ray
Between white mountains and gray clouds
Slides along the ledges of the peaks
On top of towers and ruins,
When in valleys full of darkness,
The motionless blue fog, -
Let your delight into the darkness of hearts
Such a light, singer!

And like a young rose,
Born of an early dawn,
When the wings are still scorching
The wind did not reveal the noon
And the wet sigh of the night fog
Divides between heaven and earth,
The dewdrop is rolling from the leaf, -
Let your song be pure.

Alexey Konstantinovich Tolstoy

The last snow in the field is melting,
Warm steam rises from the earth,
And the blue jug blooms,
And the cranes call each other.

Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Warm thunderstorms are impatiently awaiting;
Everything is warmed by the breath of spring,
Everything around loves and sings;

In the morning the sky is clear and transparent.
At night the stars shine so brightly;
Why is it so dark in your soul
And why is my heart heavy?

It's sad for you to live, oh friend, I know
And I understand your sadness:
You should fly back to your native land
And you don’t feel sorry for the earthly spring...

The burning afternoon tends to laziness,
Every sound died in the leaves,
In a lush and fragrant rose,
The shiny beetle sleeps basking;
And flowing out of the stones,
Monotonous and thunderous,
He speaks without stopping,
And the mountain spring sings.
Look, it's getting closer on both sides
The dense forest embraces us;
It is full of deep darkness,
It's like clouds have rolled in
Or between centuries-old trees
The night has overtaken us untimely,
Only the sun pours through them
In some places there are fiery needles.
Jagged maple and smooth beech,
Both hard hornbeam and rooty oak
Horseshoes echo the iron sound
Amidst the noise of birds and whistles;
And a tremulous mixture walks
Penumbra in the hazy cool,
And he feels the chest like the whole air
Imbued with fragrant dampness.
There's a sneaky faint ray over there
Slides along a linden tree covered with moss,
And a woodpecker knocking, and somewhere close
An invisible key is babbling in the grass...
Halt. Smoking, flame
It cracks under the road tagan,
Horses are grazing, and far away
The whole world with its false excitement.
Here I could be with you for a long time
Dream about possible happiness!
But, sadly lowering my eyes
And leaning over the steepness,
You silently look at the bay,
Surrounded by green mist...
Tell me, what is your sadness about?
Isn’t that what you’re tormented by,
That happiness is like the distance of the sea,
Runs away from us elusively?
No, we can’t catch up with him,
But there are still joys in life;
Isn't it for you on the rocks?
Are waterfalls running and splashing?
Isn't it for you in the shadow of the night
Did the flowers smell fragrant yesterday?
From the blue waves isn't it for you
Are the sunny days rising?
And this evening? Oh look
What a peaceful glow!
No fluttering can be heard in the leaves,
The sea is motionless; ships,
Like white dots in the distance,
They barely glide, melting in space;
What a holy silence
Reigns all around! Descends to us
Like a premonition of something;
It’s night in the gorges; in the fog there
The gray swamp is smoking,
And all the cliffs around the edges
Burning with evening gold...

Goddess of the forest

Pine with amber bark.
Goddess of the forest! Like spring
Green-crowned pine needles breathe,
Green-eyed country!

She has fortitude and impulse,
They burn brightly and majestically.
Dawn reddens her carpets.
Sunset weaves purple bedspreads.

The Goddess stands in beauty,
Bathing in the gold of burning,
Painting with a needle on canvas
Forest landscape, my own visions. Jamrina *** And it’s raining again. The birch tree is crying leaves,
The dew from heaven glitters like diamonds,
Ripples on the river, the water is transparently clean
It just can’t water the earth.

The cherry with the dawn is filled with ruby,
The crystal grass is ringing,
Nature wakes up to the sound of rain
In the cool of the morning, the beauty of captivity.

The winds are playing pranks, playing with the ears of corn,
The ripples lay like a wave on the field,
In the sky there is thunder and clouds arguing with gray hairs
At the other end of the chilled village.V. Zadorozhny***The sky is crying small tears,
The umbrella in the girl's hand slammed,
The drops melt into little pieces of ice,
Slowly sliding down my cheek.

The rain has begun, passers-by are in a hurry,
A cloud hovers like a black raven,
Are these moments worthless?
There's thunder in the sky.

The leaves sparkled like mirrors,
Streams rang in the drains,
Crystal drops fall from the sky,
Turning, with a shiver, into bubbles.

The sky became overcast, the rain intensified,
The horizon is no longer visible,
The wind was a little offended by the weather,
Unfurling an umbrella in a fit of rage.

The air is clean, you won’t breathe in ozone,
Take a deep breath, my head is spinning,
In the rhythmic knock the song of the rain is heard
And the grass shines under the drops.V. Zadorozhny***How ​​cheerful is the roar of summer storms,
When, throwing up the flying dust,
A thunderstorm that has swept in like a cloud,
Will confuse the sky blue

And recklessly and madly
Suddenly he runs into the oak grove,
And the whole oak grove will tremble
Broad leaves and noisy!..

As if under an invisible heel,
Forest giants bend;
Their peaks grumble anxiously,
Like conferring with each other, -

And through sudden anxiety
The bird whistle is continuously heard,
And where is the first yellow leaf,
Spinning, it flies onto the road...

F. Tyutchev

How sweetly the dark green garden slumbers,
Embraced by the bliss of the blue night!
Through the apple trees, whitened with flowers,
How sweetly the golden month shines!..

Mysterious as on the first day of creation,
In the bottomless sky the starry host burns,
Exclamations can be heard from distant music,
The neighboring key speaks louder...

A curtain has fallen on the world of day,
Movement has become exhausted, labor has fallen asleep...
Above the sleeping city, as in the tops of the forest,
A wonderful nightly hum woke up...

Where does it come from, this incomprehensible hum?..
Or mortal thoughts freed by sleep,
The world is incorporeal, audible but invisible,
Now swarming in the chaos of the night?..

F. Tyutchev

Morning in the mountains

The azure of heaven laughs,
Washed by the night thunderstorm,
And between the rop it winds dewy
The valley is a light stripe.

Only higher mountains up to half
Fogs cover the slope,
Like air ruins
The magic of created chambers.

F. Tyutchev

The clouds are melting in the sky,
And, radiant in the heat,
The river rolls in sparks,
Like a steel mirror...

The heat is getting stronger hour by hour,
The shadow went to the silent oak trees,
And from the whitening fields
It smells like honey.

Wonderful day! Centuries will pass -
They will also be in the eternal order,
The river flows and sparkles
And the fields to breathe in the heat.

F. Tyutchev

Quiet night, late summer,
How the stars glow in the sky,
As if under their gloomy light
The dormant fields are ripening...
Soporificly silent
How they sparkle in the silence of the night
Their golden waves
Whitened by the moon...

F. Tyutchev

Quietly flowing in the lake
The reflection of golden roofs,
Looks a lot into the lake
The glories of the past.

Life plays, the sun warms,
But under her and under him
Here the past breathes wonderfully
With your charm.

The golden sun is shining,
The lakes sparkle...
The great past is here
As if breathing in oblivion;

Slumbers sweetly and carefree,
Without disturbing wondrous dreams
And fleeting anxiety
Swan voices...

F. Tyutchev

The rye is ripening over the hot fields,
And from the field to the field
The whimsical wind blows
Golden shimmers.

The moon looks timidly into the eyes,
I'm amazed that the day hasn't passed,
But wide into the area of ​​the night
The day spread its arms.

Above the boundless harvest of bread
Between sunset and east
Just for a moment the sky closes
Fire-breathing eye.

Sad birch
At my window
And the whim of frost
She's dismantled.

Like bunches of grapes
The ends of the branches hang, -
And joyful to look at
All mourning attire.

I love the game of Lucifer
I notice on her
And I'm sorry if the birds
Shake off the beauty of the branches

Russian expanse

Russian field, expanse,
Where the grass is not cut,
There's a sea of ​​chamomile,
And over the sea there is blue.

There is a boundless carpet of flowers
Bright, gentle and wide,
And sways in the open field
The grass is a light breeze.

There the grass grows waist-deep,
No paths, no roads.
And what a joy it is
Wander there for at least an hour.

Look into the eyes of daisies,
Smile at the cornflowers,
Delicate pink flower
Clover clings to my feet.

Bells, carnations,
Ivan-tea and St. John's wort-
Everything is blooming and fragrant
Filled with dew.

The splendor of summer herbs,
Can't compare you to anything
Unsolved mystery
Beauty understandable to everyone.

I. Butrimova

Moscow region

Native nature of the Moscow region,
Cornflower birch edge,
Oh, open your soul to meet me
And give love without reserve.

She will respond with a warm wind,
Nightingale song in the spring,
And in the sun sparkling with snow,
And the coolness of the stream in the summer heat.

The beauty of a spring meadow,
The aroma of uncut herbs,
A yellow stack of fragrant hay
And tents of green oak forests.

Golden fields of wheat,
Copper leaves in the autumn forests,
When birds fly in flocks
Above you in the blue skies.

Snow-white caps of fir trees,
An even tablecloth of snowy fields,
The magic of New Year's snowstorms,
Bullfinches among the white branches.

Native nature of the Moscow region,
We can't find any sweeter in the world!
Doesn't depend on the time of year
A feeling of tender sympathy for her.

I. Butrimova

Birch Grove

Birch Grove,
You are my favorite forest,
The most tender leaves
And crowns to the sky.

The weeping branches are lovely,
Their delicate aroma.
Birches in white dresses
They are dressed up.

Grass carpet green
I clung to the birch trunks,
Pearl white lily of the valley
Shines among them.

Leaf fluttering
And the song of the nightingale,
And a quiet murmur
Transparent stream.

I. Butrimova

Evening

How quietly it blows over the valley
Distant bell ringing
Like the noise of a flock of cranes, -
And he froze in the sonorous leaves.

Like the spring sea in flood,
Brightening, the day does not waver, -
And more quickly, more silently
A shadow lies across the valley.

F. Tyutchev

Birch A white-trunked birch tree bent over a pond.
The mirror water admires its beauty.
The birch tree washes itself with dew in the morning.
The wind caresses her, the fog basks with her.

She stands elegantly with her braid flowing
And the traveler admires the unwritten beauty.
A ray of sunshine, a scarlet dawn comes to visit her
And that makes her even sweeter.B. Sheshegov

Tired evening

A tired evening lingers at the window,
The bright dawn has already faded,
Having touched the crowns of the birches a little
Honey gilded amber.

Dandelions closed their eyelashes,
Inhaling the tart meadow infusion,
Until the birds flutter in the forest,
And the thick fog here will not melt.

Then, trembling slightly, the fragile blades of grass
Shaking off the dewdrops the tremulous mercury
In a cool malachite hollow, -
And this evening will never come back.

Well, while the tired evening lingers,
And it's maturing new life series,
In the silence you can hear the indistinct babble,
A distant star listens to him. Tatyana Maslova-Sherwood Rainbow We looked at the rainbow in the sky:
The colored stripes were counted
And each color was decided
Come up with a funny secret.

Let the red one confess his love
Orange plays with the sun,
And the yellow one is called a tulip,
For the green one, we'll leave the cactus.

Let the sky be blue
And blue is like a sea wave,
Let it turn purple
A flower with an unusual border.

We have counted many “secrets”,
There are seven of them in total (to be exact),
But everyone will see those colors
Only what the fantasy wants.***Hides the month behind the barns
Yellow face from the blazing sun.
High above the meadows
There is a glow in the east.
The dawn fogs with foam,
Like the depth of the bride's eyes.
Spring has arrived like a wanderer,
With a staff in birch bark bast shoes.
On the birch trees in the shady grove
Hung up ringing earrings
And with dawn into the lilac garden
She fluttered merrily like a moth.S. Yesenin Seasons Four wonderful seasons a year,
And all children are welcome:

In winter it’s skis and sleds!
In spring there are puddles and green parks!
And in the summer - the holidays are hot!
Only in the fall does it get a little sad -
Nature around you begins to fall asleep... Burdock Burdock stood in the rain
And the water made him fat and fluffy.
The burdock did not wither, the burdock did not wither,
The burdock smelled like a wet swamp.

Sheltered the burdock from the stinging jets
Green moss and small flies,
Chipmunks, mice and those
Those who were afraid to get their fur wet.

When the summer rain subsides,
A loud sneeze was heard in the forest.
Rain-soaked burdock
Sneezed four times out loud. Pridvorov The beginning of a thunderstorm The sky has furrowed its shaggy eyebrows,
He looked sullenly at the ground;
Descended, hanging level with the trees,
And it sparkled with a beautiful horror.

The earth shook: she was scared!
She shrank into a ball from the roar!..
How scary tale, the storm was starting
Whirling fiery “lines”!..***Green hairstyle,
Girlish breasts,
O thin birch tree,
Why did you look into the pond?

What does the wind whisper to you?
What is the sand ringing about?
Or do you want to braid branches
Are you a moon comb?

Open up, tell me the secret
of your woody thoughts,
I fell in love with sad
Your pre-autumn noise.

And the birch tree answered me:
"Oh curious friend,
Tonight is starry
Here the shepherd shed tears.

The moon cast shadows
The greenery shone.
For bare knees
He hugged me.

And so, taking a deep breath,
He said to the sound of branches:
"Goodbye, my dove,
Until the new cranes." S. Yesenin*** You are my fallen maple, icy maple,
Why are you standing, bent over, under a white snowstorm?

Or what did you see? Or what did you hear?
It’s like you went out for a walk outside the village

And, like a drunken watchman, going out onto the road,
He drowned in a snowdrift and froze his leg.

Oh, and I myself have become somewhat unstable these days,
I won’t make it home from a friendly drinking party.

There I met a willow, there I noticed a pine tree,
I sang songs to them during the snowstorm about summer.

I seemed to myself to be the same maple tree,
Only not fallen, but completely green.

And, having lost modesty, having become stupefied,
Like someone else's wife, he hugged the birch tree.S. Yesenin***Beloved land! I dream about my heart
Stacks of the sun in the waters of the bosom.
I would like to get lost
In your hundred-ringing greens.

Along the boundary, on the edge,
Mignonette and riza kashki.
And they call to the rosary
Willows are meek nuns.

The swamp smokes like a cloud,
Burnt in the heavenly rocker.
With a quiet secret for someone
I hid thoughts in my heart.

I meet everything, I accept everything,
Glad and happy to take out my soul.
I came to this earth
To leave her quickly.S. Yesenin***You are my abandoned land,
You are my land, wasteland,
Uncut hayfield,
Forest and monastery.

The huts were worried,
And there are five of them.
Their roofs frothed
Go into the dawn.

Under the straw-riza
Planing the rafters,
The wind molds blue
Sprinkled with sunshine.

They hit the windows without missing a beat
Crows wing,
Like a blizzard, bird cherry
He waves his sleeve.

Didn't he say in the twig
Your life and reality,
What in the evening to the traveler
Whispered the feather grass?S. Yesenin***Small forest. The steppe and the distance.
Moonlight to all ends.
Suddenly they started crying again
Spill bells.

Unsightly road
Yes, forever beloved,
Which I've traveled a lot
Every Russian person.

Oh you sleigh! What a sleigh!
The sounds of frozen aspen trees.
My father is a peasant,
Well, I am a peasant's son.

I don't care about fame
And the fact that I am a poet.
This stunted area
I haven't seen you for many years.

Anyone who has seen at least once
This edge and this surface,
That one on almost every birch tree
Happy to kiss your foot.

How can I not shed tears?
If with a wreath in cold and ringing
Will be around to have fun
The youth of Russian villages.

Eh, accordion, death is poison,
Know, from that under this howl
More than one dashing glory
Disappeared through the grass.S. Yesenin*** Swamps and swamps,
Blue board of heaven.
Coniferous gilding
The forest rings.

Tit shading
Between the forest curls,
Dark spruce trees dream
The hubbub of mowers.

Through the meadow with a creak
The convoy is stretching -
Dry linden
The wheels smell.

The willows are listening
Wind whistle...
You are my forgotten land,
You are my native land.S. Yesenin Bird cherry Bird cherry fragrant
Bloomed with spring
And golden branches,
What curls, curled.
Honey dew all around
Slides along the bark
Spicy greens underneath
Shines in silver.
And nearby, by the thawed patch,
In the grass, between the roots,
The little one runs and flows
Silver stream.
Bird cherry fragrant
Having hung himself, he stands,
And the greenery is golden
It's burning in the sun.
The stream is like a thunderous wave
All branches are doused
And insinuatingly under the steep
Sings songs to her.S. Yesenin***Weaved on the lake scarlet light dawn
On the forest, wood grouse are crying with ringing sounds.

An oriole is crying somewhere, burying itself in a hollow.
Only I don’t cry - my soul is light.

I know that in the evening you will leave the ring of roads,
Let's sit in the fresh haystacks under a nearby haystack.

I'll kiss you when you're drunk, I'll fade away like a flower,
There is no gossip for those who are intoxicated with joy.

You yourself, under the caresses, will throw off the silk veil,
I’ll carry you drunk into the bushes until the morning.

And let the wood grouse cry with the bells,
There is a cheerful melancholy in the red of the dawn.S. Yesenin***It’s already evening. Dew
Glistens on nettles.
I'm standing by the road
Leaning against the willow tree.

There is great light from the moon
Right on our roof.
Somewhere the song of a nightingale
I hear it in the distance.

Nice and warm
Like by the stove in winter.
And the birches stand
Like big candles.

And far across the river,
It can be seen behind the edge,
The sleepy watchman knocks
Dead beater.S. Yesenin During a thunderstorm Suddenly the sky broke
With cold flame and thunder!
And the wind began to twist and turn
Rock the gardens behind our house.

A curtain of cloudy rain
The forest expanses were clouded.
Cutting through the darkness and furrowing,
Lightning flew to the ground!

And the cloud went on and on and on!
The shepherd shouted, the flock rushed about,
And only the church under a thunderstorm
She was silent piously and holy.

I was silent, lost in thought,
Contemplating with a habitual gaze
An ominous holiday of existence,
Confused view of the native land.

And everything was split apart,
A lullaby was heard crying,
And the arrows of lightning kept rushing
Into an unsettling, boundless space.N. Rubtsov What the park whispers About every new fresh stump,
About a branch broken aimlessly
My soul is mortally sad,
And it’s so tragic and painful for me.
The park is thinning out, the wilderness is thinning out.
The spruce bushes are thinning...
It was once thicker than the forest,
And in the mirrors of autumn puddles
It reflected like a giant...
But they came on two legs
Animals - and through the valleys
The ax carried its echoing swing.
I hear listening to the buzz
Murderous axe,
Park whispers, "Soon I won't...
But I lived - it was time..." I. Severyanin *** The spring forest is almost transparent,
He is all light and blue,
And the smoke of its leaves is inconspicuous -
Down above the upper lip.

Inexperienced, careless,
Open to the winds on all sides,
Not the least bit worried yet
He whistles jokingly.

Then summer comes to him,
He slowly pounced with force,
In happy turns of the world,
The foliage is heavy, like curls.

How these days fly like an arrow!
No grief, no resentment, -
How it smells like honey and resin,
How the birch trees make your eyes dazzle!

Then October whistles with the winds
Along long clearings and roads,
Over thinning curls
Friends who grow old in their own time.

The autumn forest is almost inconspicuous,
Doesn't strive to shine
Waiting for snow - sharp and transparent,
Calm, dry and businesslike.K. Vanshenkin***And they will be the lights of roses
Rose hips bloom, alley,
And the slope rushes under your feet
The purple scent of sage,
And in the depths the bay shimmers
With the scaly shine of sleepy abysses,
In the gray frame of foamy manes
And in the red frame of the mountains burned.
And you with your hand raised,
Without taking your eyes off the seaside,
You will go along the evening path
From the prayer plateau...
You pass a sheep's mound, a ravine...
They take you to the fence
Cows thoughtful glances
And the sad eyes of dogs.
Growing up like a jagged wing,
The shadow of the peaks will touch the sea,
And you will arise, melting, melting,
In the wormwood gloom of the valleys. M. Voloshin***Sky in subtle patterns
Wants to overcome the day
And in the soul and in the lakes
The night has fallen.

I want to shout something
Into this black mouth,
Embrace your timid heart,
Use a sensitive ear.

And you walk and don’t breathe...
The fields are getting colder.
No, listen... Do you hear?
It is the earth that breathes.

I fall down on the grass.
To be yours forever...
“I know... I know... I know everything,” -
The water whispers.

The night is dark and starless.
Someone is crying in their sleep.
The abyss is overturned
On the waters and in me.M. Voloshin On the pond Clear morning on a quiet pond
Swallows are flying around briskly,
They descend to the water itself,
The wing barely touches the moisture.

On the fly they sing loudly,
And the meadows are green all around,
And the pond stands like a mirror,
Reflecting its shores.

And, as in a mirror, between the reeds,
The forest overturned from its banks,
And the pattern of clouds goes away
Into the depths of the reflected skies.

The clouds there are softer and whiter,
The depth is endless, light...
And it comes steadily from the fields
Above the water there is a quiet ringing from the village.I. Bunin***All forest and forest. And the day gets darker;
The bottoms turn blue and the grass
Whitens the meadows with gray dew...
The gray owl woke up.

To the west there are pine trees in a row
They go like a army of guards,
And the cloudy sun is the Firebird
Burns in their centuries-old wilds.I. Bunin Zarya And here she is - Zarya, Zarya!
A gentle ruby ​​ride
Across the blue sky, giving
The plot of the divine picture.
Leaves and sand laugh.
Eternity flies like stardust.
And the flaming East
Carries delight on light wings.
A little more and a ray of sunshine
Time pierces with hot pain.
The tune of heaven sounds. Pevuch –
Hello! Hello! Love is expanse!

Rain

In the fog of cloud ruins
Meeting the morning dawn,
He was almost immaterial
And he’s not dressed in life forms.
An embryo fed by a cloud,
He was worried, he was seething,
And suddenly, cheerful and powerful,
He struck the strings and sang.
And the whole oak grove began to shine
With the lightning brilliance of tears,
And the leaves of every joint
The birch trees began to stir.
Stretched with thousands of threads
Between the gloomy sky and earth,
He burst into the flow of events,
Hanging upside down.
He fell from afar, with an angle
Into the gray clusters of oak forests.
And the whole earth with a mighty bosom
She drank it, trembling.

Nmkolay Zabolotsky

On the lake

The house on the hill swayed
In the reed eyelashes of the lakes,
On a clear morning, cherry blossoms
They embroider a pattern on the windows.
Under a mountain of silver melt
Waves stroke the lake cover -
It's good for me to swim this morning
Under the influence of light winds.
The sun dances with a radiant tan,
The steppes flow like a patterned carpet,
Waves of molten smoke beat
The sides are cast silver.

Boris Ruchiev

The night is growing pale... A shroud of fog
In the hollows and meadows it becomes whiter,
More sonorous is the forest, more lifeless is the moon
And the silver of the dew on the glass is colder.

The estate is still sleeping... It’s still dark in the garden,
Immovable poplar matte green,
And I can hear the air through the open window,
Filled with the scent of spring...

The day is approaching, a short dream has passed -
And, without disturbing the silence in the house,
Silently I go out the door onto the balcony
And I quietly wait for the bright sunrise...

Ship pines

Going north, home,
How many times in reality and in dreams
I remembered the stately, straight
Redfin Karelian pine.

Magnifying her fabulous growth.
Yes, it grows on the mountain.
At night she wanders among the stars
And it burns with fire at dawn.

I remembered how in the winter forest,
Without branches from top to toe,
Slightly swaying in the snow in the wind,
The ship's pines creak.

And when spring comes,
The trunks are getting younger and turning red.
And the dense thicket is drunk
From the resin that has warmed up during the day.

S. Marshak

What wonderful places:
The land of mighty forests,
The calling river is clear -
Get some coolness.

Barely touching the breeze
The tops are moving.
The source of splendor
Spilled through the air.

Irina Troshina

It's lonely in the wild north
There's a pine tree on the bare top,
And dozes, swaying, and snow falls
She is dressed like a robe.

And she dreams of everything in the distant desert,
In the region where the sun rises,
Alone and sad on a flammable cliff
A beautiful palm tree is growing.

M. Lermontov

Don’t turn yellow, birch, ahead of schedule Don’t turn yellow, birch, ahead of schedule,
Enjoy your summer to the end.
Look at the world with green eyes,
There are so many clear days ahead.

The swallows have not yet flown away.
Cranes wander in the quiet reaches...
Why do they fly over so early?
Are your yellow tears?

Why are you bending the branches so far down?
And be sad and cry, wait.
Nothing, just black marks
The summer rains didn't wash it away.

It's still early green malachite
Exchange for gold and copper.
Look, rowan and willow
They continue to turn lushly green.

And windy October will come.
Throw off your golden outfit.
December is sewing something new for you -
Dress with a snow-white veil.

Standing next to the spruce and pine trees,
You will be chilled by the wind,
And then come spring
You will bloom and turn green again.N. Tsvetkova Fog

From a magic jug
The river released the genie,
And he swam over the water
With a long white beard,
Over the fields, over the meadows,
Cleverly hiding behind the stacks.
He retreated into the dark forest,
Got lost and disappeared.N. Tsvetkova After the rain

The rain is pattering on the roof again,
Settling on a leaf like pearls,
The drumming gets quieter and quieter,
And then it will stop completely.

And the sky will smooth out from the wind,
Smiles like a golden star,
And happy good summer
Will be with me for a long time again.

The clouds will be mirrored
In the clear surface of rainwater,
And you'll think that it's no coincidence
Before the rain there was a hot heat,

What has now risen above the clouds
Multi-colored rainbow-dream,
And the trees themselves are green
Painted pink

And raindrops in the emerald grass
Reflect that pink light
And the fabulously wonderful wind sings,
Going back many years.