Poems about nature by Russian poets. Poems about Russian nature. Poems about different seasons

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!
Shine everywhere, bright light everywhere,
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
The ringing bell has already been raised.
The snow is still white in the fields,
And in the spring the waters are noisy -

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.
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 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 sorrowful shoots of insomnia
We must gratefully accept

We must accept it gratefully.

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 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 an 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 they lost their 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,
Tearing 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!

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:
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 making noise. 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,
Crowned with rainbows of foam!
Boil, make noise, strive to be more rebellious,
Goody, gray whirlpool,
Let me believe that I am the same too
I stand above the strife of the old 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's 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

Website “Mom can do anything!” collected poems about nature for children. In the article you will find 30 best works famous poets and writers: A. Barto, A. K. Tolstoy, A. N. Pleshcheev, A. S. Pushkin, S. Yesenin and others. These poems are about the most frequent and familiar natural phenomena from childhood such as rainbows, rain, thunderstorms, as well as about the beauty of the world around us.

Rainbow

Sunny playing
In the drops of rain,
Sparkles like a rainbow.
Leaving into the sky

ties together
River banks
Heavenly bridge -
Rainbow-arc!
(L. Gromova)

"Kate"

We've been here all morning
We were fiddling with the sprouts,
We planted them
With my own hands.

Grandma and I are together
They planted seedlings
And Katya went
With a friend in the garden.

Then we had to
Fight the weeds
We pulled them out
With my own hands.

My grandmother and I carried
Full watering cans.
And Katya was sitting
In the garden on a bench.

Are you on the bench?
Are you sitting like a stranger? -
And Katya said:
- I'm waiting for the harvest.
(A. L. Barto)

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 bad moments?
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 glistens under the drops.
(V. Zadorozhny)

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

Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Warm thunderstorms are impatiently awaiting.
All springs are warmed by breath,
Everything around loves and sings.
(A.K. Tolstoy)

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 cuter.
(B. Sheshegov)

"Spring"

The snow is already melting, the streams are flowing,
There was a breath of spring through the window...
The nightingales will soon whistle,
And the forest will be dressed in leaves!

Pure heavenly azure,
The sun became warmer and brighter,
It's time for evil blizzards and storms
It's gone for a long time again.
(A. N. Pleshcheev)

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)

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, grab the snow,
She let me in, running away,
To a beautiful child...

Spring and grief are not enough:
Washed in the snow
And only became blusher
Against the enemy.
(F. Tyutchev)

"In the meadow"

The forests in the distance are more visible,
Blue skies
More noticeable and blacker
There is a stripe on the arable land,
And children's sounds are louder
Voices above the meadow.

Spring is passing by
But where is she herself?
Chu, a clear voice is heard,
Isn't this spring?
No, it's loud, subtle
A wave gurgles in the stream...
(A. Blok)

Mushroom rain

The forest is washed with warm rain,
Leaves and grass whisper,
And they raise the trunks to the sky
The crown of a green oak forest.

Having chosen an observation post in the branches,
Rejoicing in the shower in July,
A blackbird swings like on a swing
With a drop of sun on its beak.
(S. Makhotin)

Autumn

There's already a golden leaf covering
Wet soil in the forest...
I boldly trample my foot
The beauty of the spring forest.

Cheeks are burning from the cold:
I like to run in the forest,
Hear the branches crack,
Rake the leaves with your feet!

Lies on the leaves for a long time
The nights are frosty, and through the forest
Looks kind of cold
The clarity of transparent skies...
(A.N. Maikov)

Driven by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped through muddy streams
To the flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream he greets the morning of the year;

The skies are shining blue.
Still transparent, forests
It's like they're turning green.
Bee for field tribute
Flies from a wax cell.
The valleys are dry and colorful;

The herds rustle and the nightingale
Already singing in the silence of the night.
(A.S. Pushkin)

Bullfinches

Run out quickly
Look at bullfinches.
They arrived, they arrived,
The flock was greeted by snowstorms!
And Frost is the Red Nose
He brought them rowan trees.
Well treated
Sweetened well.
Late winter evening
Bright scarlet clusters.
(A. Prokofiev)

"Spring Storm"

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,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.

A swift stream runs down the mountain,
The noise of birds in the forest is not silent,
And the noise of the forest, and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder...
(F.I. Tyutchev)

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 her songs.
(S. Yesenin)
***

"Summer"

Warmed by the warm rain,
Our summer has arrived.
Standing on the threshold
Jumped along the road.
Ran through the flowers
I can hear summer
Here and there.

Summer, summer, hot day,
A tired stump from the heat
He groaned quietly and sighed,
And I took a nap until the fall.
(L. Kislenko)

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
He sneezed four times out loud.
(Courtyards)

"Summer in a red sundress"

Summer in a red sundress
Our Anna liked:
- Give me a sundress,
I'll sew a pocket on it.

Summer in a red sundress
Smiled at our Anna:
- My sundress is not simple,
Sew yourself another one.

Mine is with flowers and gardens,
And endless fields.
It's with cherries and strawberries,
And fragrant strawberries.
(L. Kislenko)

Sunny bunny
ran along the path...
- Lawn Bunny,
where are your legs?
– A ray of light on the grass
and a ray of light in the river,
And the rest -
in mom's hand.

The sun is dressed up
In yellow clothes,
The sun buttoned up
Yellow fasteners.
The sun ran
To the other end of the world -
The sun was catching up
Golden summer.
(A. Alferova)

Summer, summer, old friend
It came to our meadow.
Sat by the fire
Where the kids were bored.
Treated us with raspberries
And it went a long way.
(L. Kislenko)

The stream runs, ringing.
He invites me:
“Come on, let’s race!
Who is faster to the river?!”
And he took off running.
I follow him, not feeling my feet.
The river glitters ahead.
I hear splashing from afar:
“You won’t catch up anyway -
I’ve been in the river for a long time!”
(N. Radchenko)

Somehow summer got boring:
- I’m not dressed in fashion,
The kokoshnik is too small for me,
And the belt is too narrow.

Where can I find a seamstress?
To be dressed fashionably?
Maybe eat fewer berries?
Maybe go on a diet?
(L. Kislenko)

***
"Summer"

Warm days again
Hello, summer time!
Near the river on the sand
The kids are sunbathing.

The ear is golden in the field,
And in the forest the grass is like silk.
The cuckoo gives a voice
And the nightingale fell silent.

The strawberries are turning red,
We are in a hurry with the baskets.
We all have something to do,
We don't sit at home in the summer!
(G. Demchenko)

Autumn has come
The flowers have dried up,
And they look sad
Bare bushes.

Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows.
It's just turning green
Winter in the fields.

A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field,
The rain is drizzling.

The waters began to rustle
Fast stream.
The birds have flown away
To warmer climes.
(A. N. Pleshcheev)

"Autumn"

Autumn, autumn, leaf fall,
Yellow leaves dotted the garden.
To a warm region where there are no snowstorms,
The flocks of birds flew away.

Clouds move in succession,
The wind blows under the mountain.
Autumn, autumn, leaf fall,
Yellow leaves dotted the garden.
(G. Demchenko)

Golden leaves swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond,
Like a light flock of butterflies
Fadingly he flies towards the star...
(S. Yesenin)

White fluffy snow
Spinning in the air
And the ground is quiet
Falls, lies down.

And in the morning snow
The field turned white
Like a veil
Everything dressed him.

Dark forest with a hat
Covered up weird
And fell asleep under her
Strong, unstoppable.

The days have become shorter
The sun shines little.
Here come the frosts,
And winter has come.
(I. Surikov)

...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...
(A.S. Pushkin)

***
Chamomile

In the meadow by that path,
What runs straight into our house,
A flower grew on a long stem -
White with a yellow eye.
I wanted to pick a flower
She raised her hand to him,
And the bee flew off the flower
And buzzes, buzzes:
"Don't touch me!"
(M. Poznanskaya)

Russian nature, broad, vast and vulnerable, like the Slavic soul, was one of the favorite themes of many famous poets. Modern poets, alas, have not adopted the ability to feel nature as keenly as their talented predecessors. But it is precisely the unity of man with nature that allows us to experience those emotions that make us write brightly, vividly, enthusiastically.

Natural beauty as a work of art

Russian nature is truly unique. It, with all its simplicity, awakens deep feelings in a person, makes you appreciate and love the surrounding splendor. Only contemplation of nature can give a person a feeling of harmony and absolute, unclouded happiness.

Reverence for this beauty, no matter whether a green field or a snow-covered forest lies before you, always awakens in a person reflections on life, the meaning of existence and the origins of truth.

Poems about nature by Russian poets are multifaceted. Russian poetry has always strived to teach the reader not only to appreciate beauty, but also to draw spiritual strength from it. No matter how bad and dark the soul may be, a person in the lap of nature always calms down, finds harmony within himself and hope for the best. After withering comes blossoming - and the frozen earth comes to life again when it meets spring.

Thus, the poet Nikolai Rubtsov wrote:

Snow fell - and everything was forgotten,

What was the soul full of!

My heart suddenly began to beat faster,

It's like I drank wine.

No one understands the beauty of Russian nature better creative person, who feels much more than us practical pragmatists. Sometimes in the rush of life we ​​do not notice the beauty around us.

Alexander Sergeevich about Russian nature

Perhaps no Russian poet has written about nature so emotionally and vividly. Pushkin, with his characteristic wisdom and ability to subtly select the right words, praised the beauty of autumn - this is his favorite time of year, to which many poems are dedicated. The poet described the beauty that reigned around, tried to embrace the immensity, paying attention to Special attention details. You can safely paint landscapes based on his poems.

Perhaps one of the most famous poems, into which the poet put all his love for this golden time of the year:

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

I am pleased with your farewell beauty -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold...

Afanasy Fet. Cherish every moment

Afanasy Fet, a pure and sincere poet, wrote about nature constantly. Afanasy possessed amazing ability clearly describe natural phenomena that are familiar to us, which we foolishly do not notice. Every word of his is imbued with love for nature and the desire to convey to the reader how little he notices in his life. But every moment is valuable - a gust of wind in the face, the touch of a ladybug on the hand, the caress of a sunbeam.

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.

Nature and inner world

Poets, who, like no one else, subtly feel not only their soul, but also the soul of each of their readers, connect nature with the inner world of man. No, descriptions of landscapes and other details of nature are not background - they are associated with mood lyrical hero threads that are not visible to everyone.

Thus, Pushkin in his poem “Flowers are the Last Mile” shows how harmonious everything is in nature and in inner world- birth and death, growth and decay. Alexander Sergeevich also liked to address natural phenomena as living beings.

Many poems on the theme of the seasons can be found in other great Russian writers: Lermontov, Blok, Tyutchev, Yesenin. But we should talk in more detail about the immortal hooligan Yesenin.

Yesenin about nature

Growing up in the village, Sergei Yesenin loved and understood Russian nature better than any city dweller. He wrote a lot about her, beautifully and sincerely, often connecting with love lyrics. Sergei Alexandrovich teaches the reader to love the Motherland with sincere and pure love, despite its imperfections - a rickety hut, an old maple tree, poor bread. But they are ours, close and dear. Russian nature in the poet's poems is so vividly described that it vividly appears before the reader's mind's eye in all its splendor.

Yesenin dedicated many lines to animals, which he loved very much since childhood. In some of his poems, he addresses our smaller brothers as old comrades. Yesenin sincerely praised natural beauty and dreamed that one day a person would come to his senses and stop destroying it. Alas, the passage of time can change little until people change themselves.