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 full 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 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 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 half of the highest mountains 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 a new series of life is ripening, 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! It’s only in the fall that it gets a little sad - Nature around us 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!.. Like a scary fairy tale, the storm began 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***The scarlet light of dawn wove out on the lake. 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 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 touches 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 your 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's 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 a distance, with an angle In 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.
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 masters who have a keen sense of the world around them, with an 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 thunderstorms at the beginning of 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 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, work in offices and watch TV in the evenings. But still, nature is our common home, and we need to protect it and take care of it.
Russian poetry always combined vulnerability and subtlety with the boundless love of poets for their native nature. Poems about nature in the works of Russian poets subtly convey peasant life and the nature of Russian people.
The beauty of Russian nature is not extolled by poets above anything else; on the contrary, in the lines of admiration there is no little sadness, modest beauty and genuine patriotism. Gracefully and subtly reflecting his native places, the poet once again, if not directly, then affectionately hints - how good our nature is in all seasons.
Learning a poem by heart requires not only memorization, but also thoughtfulness into the lines, into the poetry of the poem. Perhaps this will help you: How to learn a verse quickly and correctly?
Poems about different seasons
Poems about spring
Spring poems are full of joy and rejoicing in the bright colors of nature’s awakening from a long winter sleep. A selection of poems about the spring season To the section...
Poems about summer
Nature blooms and smells fragrant, shimmering in the sounds and colors of rhymes of poems about summer. A selection of poems about the summer season To the section...
Poems about autumn
Nature in autumn is poetic and sad, tired and wet, gloomy and beautiful, glorified by autumn lines of poems. A selection of poems about the autumn season To the section...
Poems about winter
Magical and enchanted by the winter spells, nature sleeps, lulled by the cradle of the melody of poems about winter. A selection of poems about the winter season To the section...
Nature occupies one of the main places in Russian poetry. The poems of Russian poets so touchingly describe every season. After all, how amazingly the appearance of the forest changes from summer to autumn, when the trees are decorated with autumn gilding of leaves. In winter, plants and trees sleep, plunging into a long winter sleep. Spring comes, the forest is freed from snow, nature awakens, cleansing itself from winter sleep to the warmth of spring. After spring comes summer, gardens bloom and flowers smell fragrant, filling the air with aromas and spices.
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 a 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
Nature has 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.
Nature has 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 Conceals the lofty world of a child, 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 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!
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 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, I love, I 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... Don't you 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! “Pfuhhhhh!” – 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 deftly jumps: “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!
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 artRussian 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 thoughts about life, about 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 than a creative person, who feels much more than we practical pragmatists. Sometimes in the rush of life we do not notice the beauty around us. Alexander Sergeevich about Russian naturePerhaps 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 special attention to 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 momentAfanasy Fet, a pure and sincere poet, wrote about nature constantly. Afanasy had an amazing ability to 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 worldPoets, 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, the description of landscapes and other details of nature are not the background - they are connected with the mood of the lyrical hero by threads that are not visible to everyone. Thus, Pushkin in his poem “Flowers of the Last Mile” shows how harmonious everything is in nature and in the inner world - birth and death, growth and withering. 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 natureGrowing 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 combining them 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 people would come to their senses and stop destroying it. Alas, the passage of time can change little until people change themselves.
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