Poems about the winter of Russian poets *** Snow and snow patterns, In the field there is a blizzard, conversations, At five o'clock it's already dark. Day - skates, snowballs, sleighs, Evening - grandmother's tales - Here it is - winter! .. A. Fet *** Snow everywhere; all around is quiet; Nature sleeps in winter sleep, And through the clouds - gray and gloomy - The sun looks dimly. Above my window there is a rustic bird's nest - But it reminded me of spring, flowers and sun! The skies lit up with bright purple before sunset. At night the storm raged, And with the dawn on the village, On the ponds, on the deserted garden The first snow was carried. And today, over the wide white tablecloth of the fields, We said goodbye to the belated String of geese. I. Bunin *** The creak of steps along the white streets ... The creak of steps along the white streets, Lights in the distance; On the icy walls, crystals glisten. Silvery fluff hung from the eyelashes in the eyes, The silence of the cold night Takes the breath. The wind sleeps, and everything goes numb, Just to fall asleep; The clear air itself is timid To die in the cold. A. Fet *** Bewitched by the Enchantress in Winter, the forest stands, And under the snowy fringe, Motionless, mute, It shines with a wonderful life. And he stands, bewitched, - Not dead and not alive - Enchanted by a magical dream, All entangled, all shackled With a light chain of downy ... Does the winter sun sweep its slanting beam on him - Nothing in him will tremble, He will all flare up and sparkle with dazzling beauty. F. Tyutchev *** Mom! look out of the window - To know, yesterday it was not for nothing that the cat Washed its nose: There is no dirt, the whole yard is dressed, It brightened, turned white - It can be seen that there is a frost. Not prickly, light blue Frost is hung on the branches - Look at least you! As if someone is lardy, With fresh, white, puffy cotton wool, All the bushes have been removed. Now there will be no dispute: For the sleigh, and uphill It's fun to run! Really, mom? You won’t refuse, And you yourself, probably, will say: “Well, hurry up!” A. Fet . A.A. Fet *** Chrysanthemums On the window, silver from hoarfrost, Chrysanthemums bloomed during the night. In the upper glasses - the sky is bright blue And stuck in the snow dust. The sun rises, cheerful from the cold, The window gleams golden. The morning is quiet, joyful and young, Everything is fluffy with white snow. I.A. Bunin *** Winter is not without reason angry, Its time has passed - Spring knocks on the window And drives from the yard. And everything is bustling, Everything is forcing the winter out - And the larks in the sky Already raised the chime. Winter is still busy And grumbling at Spring. She laughs in her eyes And only makes more noise ... The evil witch went berserk And, seizing the snow, Let her run away, Into a beautiful child. .. Spring and grief is not enough: Washed in the snow And only became a blush In defiance of the enemy. F.I. Tyutchev *** Winter (excerpt) White snow, fluffy It spins in the air And quietly falls to the ground, lies down. And in the morning the field turned white with snow, As if with a veil, Everything clothed him. A dark forest that covered itself with a wonderful hat And fell asleep under it Strongly, soundly ... God's days are short, The sun shines little, Here comes the frost - And winter has come ... I.Z. Surikov *** Snowflake Light fluffy White snowflake, How pure, How brave! On the stormy road It easily flies, Not to the azure heights - It asks for the ground. Wonderful azure She left. She threw herself into an unknown country. In the rays of the shining Skillful glides, Among the melting flakes Preserved white. Under the blowing wind It trembles, rises, On it, cherishing, Lightly sways. His swings comfort her. With his blizzards Spinning wildly. The long road does not end, the crystal star touches the earth. A fluffy snowflake is lying bold. How pure, how brave! K.D. Balmont *** Winter morning Frost and sun, wonderful day! You are still dozing, my lovely friend, - It's time, beauty, wake up: Open your eyes closed by bliss Towards the northern Aurora, Appear as the star of the north! Evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry, In the cloudy sky, the haze swept; The moon, like a pale spot, Turned yellow through the gloomy clouds, And you sat sad - And now ... look out the window: Under blue skies With magnificent carpets, Shining in the sun, the snow lies; The transparent forest alone turns black, And the spruce turns green through the hoarfrost, And the river glistens under the ice. The whole room is illuminated with amber brilliance. Cheerful crackling The flooded stove cracks. It's nice to think by the couch. But you know: shouldn't you order the Brown Filly to the sled? Gliding through the morning snow, Dear friend, let us give in to the run of the impatient horse And visit the empty fields, The forests, recently so thick, And the shore, dear to me. A. S. Pushkin *** Eugene Onegin (excerpt) Here is the wind, catching up the clouds, Breathed, howled - and now the winter sorceress herself is coming. Came, crumbled; hung in tufts on the boughs of oaks; She lay down in wavy carpets Among the fields, around the hills; The shore with the immovable river Was flattened by a puffy shroud; Frost flashed. And we are glad for the leprosy of mother winter ... ....................................... Neater fashionable parquet The river shines, dressed in ice. Boys joyful people Skates loudly cuts the ice; On red paws, a heavy goose, Thinking to swim in the bosom of the waters, Steps carefully on the ice, Slides and falls; cheerful Flashes, the first snow curls, Stars falling on the shore. A.S. Pushkin *** Blizzard At night in the fields, to the tune of a blizzard, Dozing, swaying, birch and spruce. .. The moon shines between the clouds over the field - A pale shadow runs and melts ... I imagine at night: between the white birches Frost wanders in the misty radiance. At night in the hut, to the tunes of a snowstorm, The creak of the cradle quietly spreads ... For a month, the light in the darkness is silvering - It flows through the frozen glass on the benches. It seems to me at night: between the boughs of birches Looks into the silent huts Frost. Dead field, steppe road! A blizzard sweeps you at night, Your villages sleep to the songs of a blizzard, Lonely spruces doze in the snow ... I imagine at night: do not steppe all around - Frost wanders on a deaf graveyard ... Ivan Bunin *** Winter road Through wavy fogs The moon makes its way, On sad glades She pours a sad light. On the road of winter, boring Troika greyhound runs, The bell is monotonous It tiringly rattles. Something native is heard In the coachman's long songs: That reckless revelry, That heartfelt longing... No fire, no black hut, Wilderness and snow... Towards me Only striped versts Come across alone... Boring, sad... Tomorrow , Nina, Returning to my sweetheart tomorrow, I'll forget myself by the fireplace, I'll look in without looking enough. Loudly the hour hand Will make its measured circle, And, removing the annoying ones, Midnight will not separate us. It's sad, Nina: my path is boring, My coachman fell silent, The bell is monotonous, The moon's face is foggy. A. S. Pushkin *** Winter evening A storm covers the sky with darkness, Whirlwinds of snow twisting; She will howl like a beast, then she will cry like a child; That on a dilapidated roof Suddenly rustle with straw; Like a belated traveler, He will knock on our window. Our dilapidated shack And sad and dark. What are you, my old woman, Silent at the window? Or are you tired of the howling storm, my friend, Or are you dozing under the buzzing of Your spindle? Let's drink, good friend Of my poor youth, Let's drink from grief; where is the mug? The heart will be happy. Sing me a song, how the tit Quietly lived beyond the sea; Sing me a song like a maiden went for water in the morning. A storm covers the sky with darkness, Whirlwinds of snow twisting; She will howl like a beast, then she will cry like a child. Let's drink, good friend Of my poor youth, Let's drink from grief; where is the mug? The heart will be happy. AS Pushkin *** Snow flies and sparkles In the golden radiance of the day. As if with fluff all the valleys and fields are covered ... The river is covered with ice And fell asleep for the time being, With ringing laughter, the children Already ride down the mountain; And the peasant renews On the logs the road to the forest; Snow flies and sparkles, Quietly falling from the sky. Spiridon Drozhzhin *** Winter Where the river played with gold, Conversing with the reeds, Now there lies crystal ice, Sparkling with pure silver. Where the rye, like the sea, was worried, Where the lush meadows bloomed, Now there, menacingly and angrily, a blizzard and snowstorm walks. Filipp Shkulev *** Winter sings - hoots ... Winter sings - hoots, The shaggy forest cradles the pine forest with a bell ringing. All around with deep longing Gray clouds float to a distant country. And in the yard the blizzard Spreads like a silk carpet, But painfully cold. Sparrows are playful, Like orphan children, Huddled at the window. The little birds are chilled, Hungry, tired, And huddle tighter. And the blizzard with a furious roar Knocks on the shutters hung down And gets more and more angry. And tender little birds doze Under these snow whirlwinds At the frozen window. And they dream of a beautiful, In the smiles of the sun, a clear Beauty of spring. S. Yesenin *** Eugene Onegin (excerpt) Winter! His horse, smelling the snow, Trotted somehow; Fluffy reins exploding, A daring wagon flies; The coachman sits on the irradiation In a sheepskin coat, in a red sash. Here runs a yard boy, Planting a bug in a sled, Transforming himself into a horse; The scoundrel has already frozen his finger: It hurts and it's funny, And his mother threatens him through the window... A. S. Pushkin *** Birch White birch Under my window Covered with snow, Like silver. On the fluffy branches With a snowy border, White fringe blossomed tassels. And the birch stands In sleepy silence, And snowflakes burn In golden fire. And the dawn, lazily circling, Sprinkles branches with new silver. S. Yesenin *** Porosha Food. Quiet. Ringings are heard Under the hoof in the snow, Only the gray crows Made a noise in the meadow. Bewitched by the invisible, The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep, Like a white scarf A pine tree has tied. She bent down like an old woman, Leaning on a stick, And under the very top of her head, a woodpecker hammers on a branch. A horse gallops, there is a lot of space, Snow falls and spreads a shawl. The endless road Runs off into the distance like a ribbon. S. Yesenin *** Meeting of winter (excerpt) In the morning yesterday the rain was knocking on the windows; Above the ground the fog rose like clouds. Chill blew in the face From the gloomy skies, And God knows what, The gloomy forest was crying. At noon, the rain stopped, And, like a white fluff, A snowball began to fall on the autumn mud. The night has passed. It's dawn. There are no clouds anywhere. The air is light and clean, And the river froze. In the yards and houses Snow lies like a sheet And from the sun it shines With multi-colored fire. At the deserted expanse of Whitened fields The forest looks merrily From under black curls - As if he is glad about something. And on the branches of birches, Like diamonds, drops of restrained tears burn. Hello winter guest! We ask for mercy to us Songs of the north to sing Through the forests and steppes. We have expanse - Walk anywhere; Build bridges across the rivers And spread carpets. We can't get used to it, Let your frost crackle: Our Russian blood Burns in the frost... Ivan Nikitin , Looks - is it good snowstorms Forest paths brought, And are there any cracks, cracks, And is there bare ground somewhere? Are the tops of the pines fluffy, Is the pattern on the oaks beautiful? And are the ice floes firmly bound In the great and small waters? He walks - walks through the trees, Cracks through the frozen water, And the bright sun plays In his shaggy beard ... Climbing onto a large pine, Beats the branches with a club And sings a daring song to himself, Boastful song: "Snowstorms, snows and fogs Are always submissive to frost I'll go to the seas-oceans - I'll build palaces of ice, I'm conceived - big rivers I'll hide them for a long time under oppression, I'll build ice bridges, Which the people won't build, Where fast, noisy waters Recently flowed freely - Pedestrians passed today, Convoys with goods passed... A rich man, I don’t count the treasury, And everything does not lack good; I clean my kingdom Into almals, pearls, silver ... " N. Nekrasov *** Only yesterday, in the sun, melting, The last forest trembled with a leaf, And winter, lushly green, She lay on a velvet carpet. Looking arrogantly, as it used to, At the victims of cold and sleep, The invincible pine did not betray itself in anything. Summer suddenly disappeared today; White, lifeless all around, Earth and sky - everything is dressed in Some kind of dull silver. Fields without herds, dull forests, No meager leaves, no grass. I do not recognize the growing power In the diamond ghosts of foliage. As if in a bluish puff of smoke From the kingdom of cereals by the will of the fairies We were incomprehensibly transported to the kingdom of rock crystals. A. Fet *** Childhood (excerpt) Here is my village; Here is my home; Here I am rolling in a sled On a steep mountain; Here the sled curled up, And I'm on my side - bang! I roll head over heels Downhill, into a snowdrift. And friends-boys, Standing over me, Laugh merrily Over my misfortune. All my face and hands I covered with snow ... I'm in a snowdrift grief, And the guys laugh! I. Surikov *** Dilapidated hut Dilapidated hut All in the snow stands. Grandmother-old woman Looks out of the window. Playful grandchildren Knee-deep snow. Fun for the kids Fast sled running... They run, laugh, Sculpt a snowy house, Voices ring loudly all around... There will be a playful game in the snowy house... Fingers will get cold, - It's time to go home! Tomorrow they will drink tea, They will look out the window - An already the house has melted, In the yard - spring!
39Poetry 12/11/2016
Dear readers, today I invite you to a winter fairy tale. Let's be filled with mood together with the poets who sang of winter in verse. Poetry is always a reflection of our soul.
Winter in Russia is a special time of the year. Summer is everywhere, you will not be surprised by it, although both it and the spring-autumn periods everywhere have their own differences. But it is the Russian winter, like no other weather season, that shows the power of the country, the people, highlights the hidden shades of our being. Today, together with you, I again leaf through the pages of poetry collections of different years. It is poems about winter that will be the topic of this review.
Does love have a short age in winter?
I propose to start this review with a musical "screen saver". There are a great many songs, romances, opera arias glorifying our winter. Each of you has your favorite tunes, cherished verse lines from a series of poems about winter, framed by music.
Here I will remind only two song plots embodying the eternal theme of love in completely different ways. These are “Winter Love” by Arno Babadzhanyan to the verses by Robert Rozhdestvensky and “Winter Night” to the verses by Boris Pasternak, from the New Year's movie hit “Irony of Fate”. What unites them is a deeply lyrical approach and that quiet sadness that is often evoked by all of us on long winter evenings.
winter love
Too cold outside
In vain love came in December.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Snow - on the streets, snow - in the forests
And in your words. And in the eyes.
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Here you say goodbye to me
I hear a voice of ice.
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Winter vows are cold,
I'll be waiting for spring for a long time...
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Love in winter has a short age.
Snow falls softly on the ground.
Winter night
Melo, melo all over the earth
To all limits.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flying into the flame
Flakes flew from the yard
to the window frame.
Snowstorm sculpted on glass
Circles and arrows.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
On the illuminated ceiling
The shadows lay
Crossed arms, crossed legs,
Crossing fates.
And two shoes fell
With a knock on the floor
And wax with tears from the night light
Drip on the dress.
And everything was lost in the snowy haze,
Gray and white.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
The candle blew from the corner,
And the heat of temptation
Raised like an angel two wings
Crosswise.
Melo all month in February,
And every now and then
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
Boris Pasternak.
Alla Pugacheva performs this heartfelt song to the classic poems about winter in the film. From her director Eldar Ryazanov sought chamber sound. And now I propose to listen to the same "Winter Night" in the original powerful performance of Nikolai Noskov. Everything is brilliant: poetry, music, performance.
Red bullfinches on white birches
The classics of the Russian poetic genre did not pass by the splendor of winter beauties. Here, speaking about poems about the winter of Russian poets, I will not separate the authors of the pre-revolutionary and Soviet periods: it is easy to see that they admired the nature of their native land equally enthusiastically.
It is difficult to convey in words the subtle ligature of frosty patterns on the glass, the softness of the snow cover on the sleeping branches of trees, the melody of the creak of skids or the mystery of the rustle of falling snowflakes. But they tried, and, most surprisingly, they succeeded, moreover, they all did it in their own way, but with the same talent, precision and subtlety.
Birch
White birch under my window
Covered with snow, like silver.
On fluffy branches with a snowy border
Tassels of white fringe blossomed.
And there is a birch in sleepy silence,
And snowflakes burn in golden fire.
And the dawn, lazily going around,
Sprinkle the branches with new silver.
Sergey Yesenin.
Bullfinches
Run out quickly
Look at the snowmen.
Arrived, arrived
The flock was met by blizzards!
A Frost-Red Nose
He brought them rowanberries.
well treated,
Well sweetened.
Late winter evening
Bright scarlet bunches.
Alexander Prokofiev.
Where is the sweet whisper
my forests?
murmuring streams,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Winter carpet
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With your bark
The stream is numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Evgeny Baratynsky.
I want the first snowflakes, tender
It is not for nothing that in poems about the winter of Russian poets there are so often rhymes or consonances of the concepts of “snowy” and “gentle”. This is not plagiarism, but a kind of intuitive feeling of the relationship of concepts, which comes to everyone in their own way. Snow, especially the first, covering the blackness of the earth, the flaws of our roads, giving a feeling of unearthly, transcendent peace. It really fascinates, you can watch the falling snowflakes without stopping, forgetting about the fuss around. And what harmony in them, what perfection of form!
Snowflake
Light fluffy,
snowflake white,
What a pure
How brave!
Dear stormy
Easy to carry
Not in the sky azure,
Asking for the ground.
Azure miraculous
She left
Myself into the unknown
The country has fallen.
In the rays of shining
Slides, skillful,
Among the melting flakes
Preserved white.
Under the blowing wind
Trembling, uplifting,
On him, cherishing,
Light swings.
his swing
She is comforted
With his blizzards
Spinning wildly.
But here it ends
The road is long
touches the earth,
Crystal star.
lies fluffy,
Snowflake is bold.
What a pure
What a white!
Konstantin Balmont.
God, I want snow so much...
Flakes flying from heaven
So that the earth is dressed as a bride
And the fog over the city disappeared ...
I want the first snowflakes, tender,
So that people, forgetting things -
They looked up at the snowy gift.
To say out loud: "Winter has come!"
I want to hear the children laugh
With admiration, touching the snow ...
Evenings in winter are kinder and quieter,
And the veil of frozen rivers shines...
I want winter, so that in this world
Everything became a little whiter.
Let the snowflakes fly around the world
Bringing joy into people's hearts...
God, I want snow so much...
Flakes flying from heaven
So that in winter the human soul is warmed
Waiting for happiness and miracles ...
Irina Samarina.
First snow
Smell of winter cold
In fields and forests.
Lit up with bright purple
Heaven before sunset.
The storm blew through the night,
And with the dawn on the village,
To the ponds, to the deserted garden
The first snow fell.
And today over the wide
white tablecloth fields
We said goodbye to the belated
A string of geese.
Ivan Bunin.
And it just snowed...
And the gloomy day seemed to become brighter.
And as if in a dream
I'm walking along a snow-covered alley.
And in the world - witchcraft!
Passers-by are fascinated by the snow…
Snowflake celebration
Little by little, tenderness is sprinkled ...
And in a white mess
Winter spins me in a magical waltz ...
Trees in silver
They bowed in astonished curtsy.
And as if on earth
There is no other color left.
From white - warmer ...
And black ...... as if it seemed ... ..
Natalya Radolina.
Not just classics, but tender romantics
When we start talking about Pushkin's vision of winter. The first thing that comes to mind is: “A storm covers the sky with darkness ...” Or no less popular, sitting “in a subcrust”: “Frost and sun; wonderful day!” Probably, this is the merit of the school, - it is firmly embedded in the memory. But the same Pushkin also has much less well-known lines, just as expressive, for example, these poems about winter, short and beautiful.
What a night! Frost crackling,
Not a single cloud in the sky;
Like a sewn canopy, a blue vault
It is full of frequent stars.
Everything is dark in the houses. At the gate
Locks with heavy locks.
Everywhere people rest;
The noise and the shout of the merchant subsided;
Only the yard guard barks
Yes, the ringing chain rattles.
And all of Moscow sleeps peacefully...
Just as one-sided, but rather, we simply know little of the poetry of Nikolai Rubtsov. Of course, his mystical prediction: “I will die in Epiphany frosts, I will die when birch trees crack…” - could not help but remain in the memory of people in the history of literature. Moreover, it came true with perfect accuracy. But the same Rubtsov also has such heartfelt poems about winter, filled with a sense of light, light. They are like a musical subtext of the running of an elegant, swift troika:
Ah, who doesn't love the first snow
Slightly humming in the wind!
Dozhinki are celebrating in the village,
And snowflakes fly on the accordion.
And covered in glowing snow
Elk freezes on the run
On a distant shore.
Why are you holding the whip in the palm of your hand?
Horses gallop easily in harness,
And along the roads between the fields,
Like flocks of white doves
Snow is flying up from under the sleigh...
Ah, who doesn't love the first snow
In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,
In the fields, in the villages and in the forest,
Slightly humming in the wind!
But the names of Tyutchev, Fet, Bunin are not accidentally strongly and absolutely correctly associated with true soulful lyrics. These are masters of the word, true connoisseurs of Russian literature, which is why they so vividly succeeded in verses about winter and any other seasons. They sincerely loved these wide expanses and always, in any circumstances, remained singers of their native nature.
Enchantress Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands,
And under the snowy fringe,
Motionless, dumb
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive -
Magically enchanted by sleep
All entangled, all bound
Light downy chain…
Is the winter sun mosque
On him his ray oblique -
Nothing trembles in it
He will flare up and shine
Dazzling beauty.
Fedor Tyutchev.
wonderful picture,
How are you related to me?
white plain,
Full moon,
the light of the heavens above,
And shining snow
And distant sleigh
Lonely run.
The creak of footsteps along the white streets, the lights in the distance;
Crystals gleam on the icy walls.
Silver fluff hung from the eyelashes in the eyes,
The silence of the cold night occupies the spirit.
The wind sleeps, and everything goes numb, just to fall asleep;
The clear air itself is shy to die in the cold.
Afanasy Fet.
On New Year's Eve, dreams smell like this ...
The culmination of winter, its pole, is, of course, the New Year. How we wait for him, with what hopes he comes to every home! This is the time when we all fall into childhood for a short time, we really want to believe in miracles. So, with this faith we bring the miracle a little closer. These days we are invariably kinder, becoming more humane. Yes, probably more sentimental, but we can afford it on rare fabulous New Year's days. And poems about winter, short and beautiful, dedicated to this beloved spiritual holiday, will remind us of these bright moments throughout the year.
What bliss that the snows sparkle
that the cold got stronger, and it drizzled in the morning,
that foil sparkles wildly and gently
on every corner and in the shop window.
While serpentine, tinsel, rigmarole
rise above the boredom of other possessions,
the tedium of New Year's Eve
endure and endure - what a wondrous fate!
What luck that the shadows lay down
around the fir trees and firs blooming everywhere,
and the evergreen news of love
inspired to the soul and added to the miracle.
Where did tenderness and spruce come from,
where they hid before and how they agreed!
Like children waiting at the cherished doors,
I forgot to wait, and the doors opened.
What a blessing it is to decide
where a glass ball will glow more beautifully,
and only love, only spruce dress up
and contemplate this unspeakable world...
Bella Akhmadulina.
Frosty tangerine peel,
Resinous pine branch,
Frozen raspberries
Dreams smell like this on New Year's Eve.
This is how dreams smell when on the Christmas trees
The garlands haven't lit up yet.
This is how dreams smell when in the evening
There are untouched candles ...
Tatyana Snezhina.
According to New Year's Eve...
And let's according to the New Year's law -
We leave everything unnecessary behind our backs:
Bad phone calls
Last weekend alone...
Unexpected troubles and losses,
All the diseases that came on the sly ...
And we will open the doors in the New Year, with a smile.
Light in the soul from the New Year's snowball ...
We will take with us a package of brilliant ideas,
A bag of joy, trunks of kindness.
And friends - so dear and real ...
Don't forget to bring your dreams.
Let's break into the New Year with a white stripe,
Covering the negative with pure snow,
To appreciate people with spiritual beauty ...
The courtyard of the inner world is so beautiful.
We will forget New Year's recipes.
Forget the holiday outfit...
Only with sincerity will you contribute -
In the New Year, where we make plans at random ...
And on the Christmas tree the garland is blinking so
Like hope that burns in the hearts of people.
And let's believe that - it does not happen ...
And the year of good news will begin!
Irina Samarina.
Winter without a mask and without makeup
Having waited for the first innocent snow, we are already starting to slowly prepare for the New Year celebrations. And when the fireworks die down, champagne is drunk, all the other rituals of the night of magic are performed, we are already thinking about spring. Sometimes we rejoice in the invigorating frost, the blinding sun, and sometimes we leaf through the calendar, count the days until the first spring days, wonder whether the arrival of the drop will be quick or protracted.
These poems about winter are completely different in plot, mood, subtext. Because you and I are also individuals, we see the world in a slightly special way, and this only adds to its charm.
Winter without a mask and without makeup
White - white, weak, not harmonious,
But the lurking vision
But even the silent one is heard.
She is full of forebodings
Appropriate except in youth,
She needs art
In its unsettling, wild strangeness.
It's all about him! All surroundings
Brushes, and strings, and rhythm requires.
Everything stirs the imagination
Hurries, wanders, raves, tries ...
And we, crowding right there,
Reassessing the case
The eve of winter, the eve of the cold,
The height of seasonal art.
Pavel Antokolsky.
Winter
White snow, fluffy in the air is spinning
And quietly falls to the ground, lays down.
And in the morning the field turned white with snow,
Like a veil all dressed him.
A dark forest that covered itself with a wonderful hat
And fell asleep under it soundly, soundly ...
God's days are short, the sun shines little,
Here come the frosts - and winter has come.
A peasant worker pulled out a sledge,
Children build snow mountains.
For a long time the peasant has been waiting for winter and cold,
And he covered the hut with straw from the outside.
So that the wind does not penetrate into the hut through the cracks,
Blizzards and blizzards would not inflate snow.
He is now calm - everything around is covered,
And he is not afraid of the evil frost, angry.
Ivan Surikov.
Wet snow flakes fly all day long...
And what do they want from us in the crazy world?
And what do we ourselves want from the world?
And where are we flying through thick flakes?
Where are they waiting for us and where are they waving to us from?
Snow flakes fly over the path, over the river.
Where is the limit? Where is peace, silence and comfort?
Flakes of wet snow scurry and scurry.
Larissa Miller.
Will there be spring?
twirled, twirled
Blizzard winter dial.
Perform bagatelles
We are on an icy pipe.
The pine-spruces have become flirtatious,
They put on ball gowns.
The whistlers fell silent ...
In a snow-white cradle
The river is drooping. Only in the font
At Epiphany - "carousels" ...
Vyuzhit again ... Barely
I believe in the arrival of a drop ...
Lyubov Mironova.
Winter music
Music winter snowflake flute
ringing with watercolor silver
And lie down sad in a snowdrift,
playing with the wind, not in a hurry.
Waiting for another to wait in vain,
in the royal sparks a dashing bell.
In the top three going to the remote
white verse will fly to the edge.
Through the forest limit and in the fresh hoarfrost
shakes the twig by accident.
Smiling, the guest will shudder with hair,
the gray wolf sings happy.
Music winter snowflake flute
ringing with watercolor silver.
Royal fluff in the forest turns white,
he orders to write with a holy sail.
Evgeny Borisovsky.
Again, nature has become generous,
Mother Nature herself:
What a glorious weather
What a snowy winter.
Boots and skis are ready,
Matches and food in the pocket
Not in reserve - but to survive
When trouble strikes.
I'm in a hurry. Satisfied with ski grease,
Path to the snow
There, where the winter fairy tale blows.
And I say hello to the fairy tale.
The lights of a distant village
Still burning, but the light dawns,
A little more, a little more, a moment more -
And dawn breaks.
A tit has shaded in the forest,
Magpie, with news light,
The fox crackled in bulk,
But she was far away.
There behind the high mountains
Where the distance is transparent and boom,
Winter with howling winds
The frosty sound of a pine forest.
Naked on a roll
Already, fairly, shallow,
The restless stream murmurs,
Leading a silver chant.
And the promised side
I wander under the vault of gray skies,
Where is the woodpecker with a drum shot
The numb wakes the forest.
Do not cover with an inquisitive glance
The expanse of swamped fields,
Where are the miracles, where is the fairy tale nearby
With a radiant flock of bullfinches.
To the land of snowy paradise
They carry hemmed pimas.
And pours, playing with sounds,
Live music in winter...
Victor Kukhtin.
An invitation to a winter fairy tale...
As in a ghostly white, captivating dream
The moon is silver in the night sky,
And white-white birches doze,
Wrapped in snow, immersed in dreams.
And unearthly silence surrounds me,
Does this really happen?
And the snow is silver under the moonbeam -
What will be, what was - I do not care.
I don't know, I don't remember, I live in the moment,
And the fairy tale stands before me in reality.
And it seems: take a timid step,
And marvelous dreams will dispel the horn.
The wind will touch them with a swift run,
And wonderful castles will fall in snow.
And I hid, almost not breathing -
Oh, winter fairy tale, how good you are!
Anatoly Tsepin.
Flowers under the snow
The flowers in the garden have not yet bloomed,
And time drives white blizzards
Bright dreams go under the snow,
Nature goes to sleep until April...
... Well, it’s clear that nature intended it that way,
Flowers need to rest too.
Flowers under the snow will stand a little,
Spring will come and they will bloom again.
Nadezhda Lykova.
Traces
I love,
when over the city -
snow,
circling uncertainly
no one.
inanimate,
shaggy,
slow snow
dresses in ermine
Muscovites.
In an ermine coat
a student is coming.
in stoats
the guard is dressed up…
I love looking at white ripples.
Lanterns float above the street -
are burning.
Like filled with flames
zeros,
at home
lights are on.
The fluffy snow is falling
and I run after him.
The snow is entangled in the tangle of bushes.
On the snow,
on a very quiet
snow -
exclamation points
traces!
Robert Christmas.
And here is another touching poem about winter.
Your name on the white snow...
Your name on the white snow
reflection of crystal happiness ...
Weightless snowflakes fly like an angel's fluff from a wing ...
In every letter of the sun, the rays of the vast sky are a communion ...
And the fairy tale-winter is infinitely pure and bright...
Your name on the white snow
the whisper of birds in the play of dawn ...
The lacy breath of dreams in the chime of Christmas days…
A thin piece of ice on the tongue ... a sweet berry of ripe summer ...
A little tear trembling with happiness... my belated song...
Your name on the white snow
like a postscript of unfulfilled letters...
Like a hope for a fairy-tale light... like a golden dawn of heaven...
Sparks of stars are scattered like pearl-silver beads...
And the gift of the gods sparkles - your name is my prayer ...
………
You know... the angels took care of your name for so long, so that when we met, it became the only one in my life...
Marina Yesenina
And in conclusion, I want to present you one small, short poem about winter from Anna Voronina. She wrote this poem under the impression of the winter issue of the magazine last year. Anya is a regular contributor to the magazine. Such warm, pleasant lines ...
Soul of winter
Ginger-pine aroma
With a spicy note of mandarin.
Cotton candy outfit
Painted in mother-of-pearl sunset.
Weave star cape
Covered her shoulders. Candles are dancing
Letting go of the shadows
Decorating the brow of nature.
Longer step time,
And there is a place for idle laziness,
In sleepy bliss.
Anna Voronina.
Dear readers, our new winter issue of the Aromas of Happiness magazine will be released very soon. If you don't know about it, go to the subscription page and read reviews about the magazine. And subscribe so you don't miss it.
Get the magazine for free
I thank the readers of my blog Viktor Bessonov and Lyubov Mironova for their help in selecting winter poems for this article. Together we collected what is very expensive, although, of course, there are very, very many such verses.
Dear readers, the New Year is just around the corner, and winter will delight us for a long time with the silver sheen of ice floes, the uniqueness of Lego snowflakes, and the serenades of snowstorms. And new poems, songs, everything that warms the soul even in the coldest frosts.
New Year's mood from me to you. Chaga birch mushroom and its beneficial properties
Compiled by S. F. Dmitrenko
Parents, teachers and curious students
This book does not replace, but significantly complements traditional anthologies and collections of literary reading. Therefore, you will not find here many famous works that are constantly reprinted and included in the books mentioned. Fortunately, Russian literature is inexhaustibly rich and you can expand your circle of reading endlessly, it would be a hobby.
This book is one of four in a series dedicated to the seasons. A book about winter, our famous Russian winter. Its frosts and snowstorms are sung by poets and writers of the 19th-20th centuries. At the same time, as we all know, our winter also has the most important events: the solstice, New Year's Eve and Russian Christmas time: the period from Christmas to Epiphany.
In the era of the general spread of the Internet and the ease of obtaining any information and explanation through it, we decided to dispense with systematic comments on texts and detailed biographical information about writers. Some of the readers may need them, some may not, but in any case, every student gets an excellent opportunity to make sure that an independent search for interpretations of incomprehensible words and expressions on the Internet is no less exciting than the famous "shooters" and similar attractions.
I would also like to hope that reading books in our series will make schoolchildren want to read other works by excellent Russian writers, especially since for obvious reasons we are forced to abbreviate some of the works published here.
Good reading to you!
Ivan Nikitin
winter meeting
Rain yesterday morning
He knocked on the glass of the windows,
Fog over the ground
I got up with clouds.
At noon the rain stopped
And that white fluff
On the autumn mud
The snow began to fall.
The night has passed. It's dawn.
There are no clouds anywhere.
The air is light and clean
And the river froze.
Hello winter guest!
Please have mercy on us
Sing the songs of the north
Through forests and steppes.
We have an expanse -
Walk anywhere:
Build bridges across rivers
And lay out the carpets.
We can't get used to it,
Let your frost crackle:
Our Russian blood
Burning in the cold!
Athanasius Fet
“Yesterday, basking in the sun…”
Just yesterday, in the sun,
The last forest trembled with a leaf,
And winter, lush green,
She lay on a velvet carpet.
Looking haughtily, as it used to be,
On the victims of cold and sleep,
Didn't change anything
Invincible pine.
Summer suddenly disappeared today;
White, lifeless circle,
Earth and sky - all dressed
Some dull silver.
Fields without herds, forests are dull,
No meager leaves, no grass.
I don't recognize the growing power
In the diamond ghosts of the foliage.
As if in a gray puff of smoke
From the kingdom of cereals by the will of the fairies
Moved incomprehensibly
We are in the kingdom of rock crystals.
“Here is the morning of the north - sleepy, miserly ...”
Here is the morning of the north - sleepy, mean -
He looks lazily out the portage window;
The fire is crackling in the furnace - and the gray smoke is a carpet
Quietly creeps over the roof with a ridge.
A caring rooster, digging on the road,
Screaming ... and the grandfather is bearded on the threshold
Grunts and crosses himself, clutching the ring.
And white flakes fly into his face.
And the afternoon grows. But, God, how I love
Like a troika coachman a remote wagon
Rush - and hide ... And for a long time, it seems to me,
The sound of a bell trembles in the silence.
"The cat sings, squinting his eyes ..."
The cat sings, squinting his eyes;
The boy is napping on the carpet.
A storm is playing outside
The wind is whistling in the yard.
“It’s enough for you to wallow here,
Hide your toys and get up!
Come to me to say goodbye
Yes, go to sleep."
The boy stood up, and the cat with his eyes
He spent and sings everything;
The snow falls in tufts at the windows,
The storm whistles at the gate.
Dmitry Tsertelev
“It’s winter again, and the birds have flown away…”
It's winter again and the birds have flown away
The last sheets fell off
And the blizzards have already brought
Decayed garden, withered flowers.
In vain you look for colors and movement,
Covered everything with a silver veil,
As if the sky is only a reflection
Under it spread snow.
Nikolai Ogaryov
"It's cold out there..."
It's cold outside,
A blizzard howls under the window;
Another night gravitates over the earth,
And everything is sleeping peacefully around.
I woke up alone before dawn
And silently flooded the fireplace,
And the crackling fire started
And a wandering reflection spilled.
It was hard for me and I became sad,
And involuntarily it came to mind
As it happened to me in my childhood
The fireplace is warm and light.
Osip Mandelstam
"Like a belated gift..."
Like a belated gift
I feel winter
I love her first
Uncertain range.
She's good with fear
As the beginning of terrible deeds, -
Before all the treeless circle
Even the raven was timid.
But most of all fragile -
convex blueness,
Semicircular temporal ice
Rivers flowing without sleep...
Vladimir Benediktov
Freezing
Chu! From the yard knocking on the shutters:
I recognize the rich man.
Hello friend, old friend!
Hello December child!
The smoke from the chimneys creeps lazily;
The snow squeals under the runner;
The sun is pale arrogantly
Looking at the world through the mist.
I love this blessed
The sharp cold of winter days.
The sled is running. stately coachman,
Winged young horses,
Cheerful and red: blood plays,
And loudly - proudly,
Silver and sparkle
In the snow sparks a beard.
Christmas tree
Christmas tree, wild beauty
Buried deep,
Silently grew up in the forest,
Far from people.
Trunk under hard bark
Greens - all needles,
And resin tear, tear
Caplet from a poor Christmas tree.
A flower does not grow under it,
The berry does not sing;
Only autumn fungus
Moss covered - blushes.
Here is Christmas Eve:
The Christmas tree was cut down
And in the clothes of the celebration
Brightly dressed up.
Here on the tree - a row of candles,
twisted lollipop,
Juicy grapes in bunches
Gingerbread gilded.
Instantly overgrown with fruits
Gloomy branches;
The Christmas tree was brought into the room:
Have fun kids!
Pyotr Vyazemsky
Blizzard
The day is shining; suddenly you can't see
Suddenly the wind blew up
The steppe rose with wet dust
And curls in circles.
Snow beats from above, snow pimples from below,
There is no air, heaven, earth;
Clouds have descended to earth
Putting on a robe for the day.
Land assault: darkness and fear!
The compass is not to help, nor fed:
Feeling faded and frozen
Both in the coachman and in the horses.
Here the prankster goblin will jump out,
He expanse in the commotion:
That light will shine in the darkness,
That will cross the road on foot,
There's a bell somewhere,
Here a good man comes around,
Someone will knock on the gate
The barking of domestic dogs is heard.
You go ahead, look on the side,
Everything is wilderness, everything is snow, and frozen steam.
And God's world became a snowball,
Wherever you rummage around, everything is useless.
Here is a shaggy enemy to the horses
Somersaults with a bow at the feet,
And at midnight most from the road
Kibitka on its side - and into the ravine.
Accommodation both quiet and spacious:
Here cockroaches do not climb,
And is the wolf the night watch
Will come to visit - who is there?
Alexey Apukhtin
spark
Shivering from the cold, exhausted on the way,
Caught off guard by a harsh blizzard,
I thought: horses can't take me
And the snowdrift will be my last bed ...
Suddenly a bright light flashed in the deaf forest,
The hospitable door opened before us,
In a cozy room, in front of a light...
Published: 23.01.2016
Winter in the verses of Russian poets is thoughtful and beckons with splendor, as if the queen herself
the kingdom of the winter and the mistress of snowstorms and blizzards, fetters and beckons with her beauty
and majesty. Nature hid and sleeps, hiding under a snow-white blanket,
while winter unleashed the forces of wind and frost, shackling all natural
the world into icy fetters, as if, lines of winter poems, bewitched by beauty and enchanted
of Russian poetry.
A. S. Pushkin. “Here is the north, catching up the clouds ...”
Here is the north, catching up the clouds,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The magical winter is coming.
Came, crumbled; shreds
Hung on the branches of oaks;
She lay down with wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
A shore with a motionless river
Leveled with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
I'll tell mother winter's leprosy.
(excerpt from the novel Eugene Onegin)
A. A. Fet. "Mum! Look out the window"
Mum! look out the window
Know that yesterday it was not for nothing that the cat
Washed the nose
There is no dirt, the whole yard is dressed,
Brightened, whitened -
Apparently it's cold.
Not scratchy, light blue
Frost is hung on the branches -
Just look at you!
Like someone with a beef
Fresh, white, plump cotton
Removed all bushes.
Now there will be no dispute:
For the sled, and uphill
Have fun running!
Really, mom? You won't refuse
And you might say to yourself:
"Well, hurry up for a walk!"
A. N. Apukhtin. "Rose white, fluffy"
White riza, fluffy
Fir trees sparkle lightly;
Shiny silver fabric
Ice-clad glass:
Side of the woods far away
All covered with snow
And looks from the heavens high
Round moon..
A. S. Pushkin. Winter road
Through the wavy mists
The moon is creeping
To sad glades
She pours a sad light.
On the winter road, boring
Troika greyhound runs
Single bell
Tiring noise.
Something is heard native
In the coachman's long songs:
That revelry is remote,
That heartache...
No fire, no black hut...
Wilderness and snow... Meet me
Only miles striped
Come across alone.
Bored, sad... Tomorrow, Nina,
Tomorrow, returning to my dear,
I'll forget by the fireplace
I look without looking.
Sounding hour hand
He will make his measured circle,
And, removing the boring ones,
Midnight won't separate us.
It's sad, Nina: my path is boring,
Dremlya fell silent my coachman,
The bell is monotonous
Foggy moon face.
A. A. Blok "Dilapidated hut"
dilapidated hut
All covered in snow.
old grandmother
Looks out the window.
For the naughty grandchildren
Knee-deep snow.
Cheerful for the kids
Fast sled run...
running, laughing,
Making a snow house
In the snow house
Razor game…
Fingers get cold
It's time to go home!
Drink tea tomorrow
Looking out the window -
But the house has melted,
It's spring outside!
N. A. Nekrasov "A Man with a Marigold" (from "Peasant Children")
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I came out of the forest; there was severe frost.
I look, it rises slowly uphill
Horse carrying firewood.
And marching importantly, in serenity,
A man is leading a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a sheepskin coat,
In big mittens ... and himself with a fingernail!
"Hey, boy!" - Get past yourself! -
“You are painfully formidable, as I can see!
Where are the firewood from? - From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, cuts, and I take.
(The woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.) -
“What, does your father have a big family?”
The family is big, yes two people
All the men, something: my father and I ... -
“So there it is! And what's your name?"
"And what year are you?" - The sixth passed ...
Well, dead! - shouted the little one in a bass voice,
He jerked by the bridle and walked faster.
The sun shone on this picture
The baby was so hilariously small
It's like it was all cardboard.
It's like I was in a children's theater!
But the boy was a living, real boy,
And firewood, and brushwood, and a piebald horse,
And the snow, lying to the windows of the village,
And the cold fire of the winter sun -
Everything, everything was real Russian,
With the stigma of an unsociable, deadly winter.
What is so painfully sweet to the Russian soul,
What Russian thoughts inspire in the minds,
Those honest thoughts that have no will,
To whom there is no death - do not push,
In which there is so much anger and pain,
In which there is so much love!
N. A. Nekrasov "Moroz the Governor" (from "Moroz, Red Nose")
It is not the wind that rages over the forest,
Streams did not run from the mountains,
Frost-voivode patrol
Bypasses his possessions.
Looks - good blizzards
Forest paths brought
And are there any cracks, cracks,
Is there any bare ground anywhere?
Are the tops of the pines fluffy,
Is the pattern on oak trees beautiful?
And are the ice floes tightly bound
In great and small waters?
Walks - walks through the trees,
Cracking on frozen water
And the bright sun plays
In his shaggy beard.
The road is everywhere to the sorcerer,
Chu! comes closer, gray-haired.
And suddenly he was over her,
Above her head!
Climbing on a large pine tree,
Hits the branches with a club
And I delete myself,
Boastful song sings:
"Look, young lady, bolder,
What a governor Frost!
You probably have a stronger guy
And it turned out better?
Blizzards, snow and fog
Always submissive to frost
I'll go to the sea-okiyany -
I will build palaces of ice.
I think - the rivers are big
For a long time I will hide under oppression,
I will build bridges of ice
Which the people will not build.
Where fast, noisy waters
Recently flowed freely -
Pedestrians passed today
The convoys with the goods have passed.
I love in deep graves
Row the dead in frost,
And freeze the blood in your veins,
And the brain freezes in the head.
On the mountain unkind thief,
At the fear of the rider and the horse,
I love in the evening
Start a chatter in the forest.
Babenki, singing to the goblin,
They run home quickly.
And drunk, and horseback, and foot
It's even more fun to fool around.
I'll whiten my face without chalk,
And the nose is on fire
And I'll freeze my beard like that
To the reins - even cut with an ax!
I'm rich, I don't count the treasury
And everything does not lack good;
I take away my kingdom
In diamonds, pearls, silver.
Come into my kingdom with me
And be you queen in it!
We will reign gloriously in winter,
And in the summer we will fall asleep deeply.
Come in! I'll take a nap, I'll warm
I will take the palace blue ... "
And became the governor over her
Swing an ice mace.
S. D. Drozhzhin "Snow flies and sparkles ..."
Snow flies and sparkles
In the golden light of the day.
Like fluff
All valleys and fields...
Everything in nature freezes:
And the fields, and the dark forest.
Snow flies and sparkles
Silently falling from the sky.
S. A. Yesenin "Birch"
White birch
under my window
covered with snow,
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
snow border
Brushes blossomed
White fringe.
And there is a birch
In sleepy silence
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire
A dawn, lazy
Walking around,
sprinkles branches
New silver.
S. A. Yesenin. powder
I'm going. Quiet. Ringing is heard
Under the hoof in the snow.
Only gray crows
Made a noise in the meadow.
Bewitched by the invisible
The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep.
Like a white scarf
The pine has tied.
Bent over like an old lady
Leaned on a stick
And under the very crown
The woodpecker hammers at the bitch.
The horse gallops, there is a lot of space.
Snow falls and spreads a shawl.
Endless road
Runs off into the distance.
Boris Pasternak. "It's snowing"
It's snowing, it's snowing.
To the white stars in the blizzard
Stretching geranium flowers
For the window frame.
It's snowing and everything is in turmoil
Everything takes flight,
black stairs steps,
Crossroad turn.
It's snowing, it's snowing
As if not flakes are falling,
And in the patched coat
The sky descends to the ground.
Sergey Yesenin. "I'm on the first snow"
I wander through the first snow,
In the heart are lilies of the valley of flashing forces.
Evening blue candle star
He lit up my road.
I don't know, is it light or darkness?
In more often the wind sings or a rooster?
Maybe instead of winter in the fields
The swans sat on the meadow.
You are good, O white surface!
A light frost warms my blood!
So I want to press to the body
Bare breasts of birches.
Oh forest, dense dregs!
About the fun of the snow-covered fields! ...
So I want to close my hands
Over the tree hips of willows.
1917
Ivan Bunin. "Blizzard"
At night in the fields, to the tunes of a snowstorm,
Dozing, swaying, birch and spruce ...
The moon shines between the clouds above the field, -
A pale shadow runs and melts...
It seems to me at night: between white birches
Frost wanders in the misty radiance.
At night in a hut, to the tunes of a snowstorm,
The creak of the cradle quietly spreads ...
For a month the light in the darkness is silvering -
In the frozen glass on the benches flows ...
It seems to me at night: between the boughs of birches
Frost looks into the silent huts.
Dead field, steppe road!
Blizzard sweeps you at night,
Your villages are sleeping under the songs of a blizzard,
Lonely fir trees slumber in the snow...
It seems to me at night: do not steppe around -
Frost wanders on a deaf graveyard ...
1887–1895
K. Balmont. "The fields are covered with a motionless veil."
The fields are covered with a motionless veil.
Fluffy white snow.
As if the world had said goodbye to Spring forever,
With its flowers and leaves.
Bound ringing key. He is a prisoner of Winter.
One snowstorm sings, sobbing.
But the Sun loves a circle. It keeps Spring.
Young will return again.
So far she went to wander in foreign lands,
For the world to experience dreams.
So that he sees in a dream that he lies in the snow,
And he listens to the blizzard like singing.
Here comes the postal troika
(Russian folk song)
Here comes the postal troika
Along Mother Volga in winter,
The coachman, sadly singing,
Shakes his wild head.
What were you thinking, kid? -
The seat asked kindly. -
What a twist on the heart
Tell me, who upset you?
"Ah, gentleman, gentleman, good gentleman,
It's almost a year since I love
And the infidel-headman, Tatar
He scolds me, but I endure.
Oh sir, sir, soon Christmas time,
And she won't be mine anymore
The rich chose, but the hateful -
She will not see happy days ...
The coachman fell silent and a belt whip
With annoyance, he plugged it into his belt.
Family, stop! Restless! -
He said he sighed sadly. -
For me, the horses will be sad,
Having parted, greyhounds, with me,
And I can't run anymore
On the Mother Volga in winter!
S. Yesenin. "Winter sings - calls out."
Winter sings - calls out ...
Shaggy forest cradles
The call of a pine forest.
Around with deep longing
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And in the yard a snowstorm
Spreads like a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful
Like orphan children
Huddled at the window.
Little birds are chilled,
Hungry, tired
And they huddle tighter.
A blizzard with a furious roar
Knocks on the shutters hung
And getting more and more angry.
And gentle birds doze
Under these whirlwinds of snow
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Spring beauty.
E. Baratynsky "Where is the sweet whisper"
Where is the sweet whisper
my forests?
murmuring streams,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Winter carpet
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With your bark
The stream is numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Why, yearning
I'm watching through the window
Blizzards fly?
To the darling of happiness
Blood from bad weather
It gives.
crackling fire
In my oven;
His rays
And flying dust
I'm having fun
Careless look.
I dream in silence
Before the live
His game
And I forget
I am the storm.
V.Ya. Bryusov. "Winter"
The embodiment of dreams
Life with a dream is a game
This world of charms
This world of silver!
See more poems about winter in the forum thread here:
From childhood, our children need to be taught to love and feel the surrounding nature, to be able to see all its beauty. Children get acquainted with works of art, literature, which capture the unique phenomena of nature. Poetry awakens an emotional and creative mood in children.
Winter brings joy to children: they love to play snowballs, sledding, skating. . Ask the children how you can affectionately call winter? , Zimushka, Enchantress, Sorceress. Why is she called that? She creates magic: she bewitched the forest, he sleeps under a warm hat of snow, dressed the trees in beautiful outfits, wrapped the Christmas tree.
Russian poets wrote many good poems about winter, showed its harsh nature, the beauty of winter landscapes. In winter, nature sleeps, the whole earth is covered with a white blanket, the rivers are frozen.
Reading the poems of Russian poets about winter landscapes, you find yourself in some kind of magical world of miracles, where your own laws reign.
Our task is to introduce children to Russian poets and read beautiful poems about winter with children. Let the children learn to think figuratively, fantasize, imagine all the beauty of winter nature. Poems help develop the child's speech, educate aesthetic feelings. To teach children to read poetry thoughtfully, with expression, highlighting individual words, somewhere lowering their voice.
When my granddaughter and I learn poetry, I teach her to feel the words, to highlight them, to speak with expression. Not just to tell, but to pass all this through your soul. We will learn to read poetry beautifully.
I suggest you relax today, immerse yourself in the world of Russian poetry, read poems about winter, imagine all the beauty of winter landscapes. Winter brings us many surprises. But we will represent such a winter as the classics described it.
Beautiful poems of Russian poets about winter
Frost - Voevoda
N. Nekrasov
It is not the wind that rages over the forest,
Streams did not run from the mountains.
Frost - Voyevoda patrol
Bypasses his possessions.
Looks - good blizzards
The forest paths are swamped,
And are there any cracks, cracks,
Is there any bare ground anywhere?
Are the tops of the pines fluffy,
Is the pattern on oak trees beautiful?
And are the ice floes tightly bound
In great and small waters?
Walks - walks through the trees,
Cracking on the frozen river.
In his shaggy beard.
Winter
Ivan Surikov
Fluffy white snow
Spinning in the air.
And the earth is quiet
Falling, laying down.
And in the morning with snow
The field is white
Like a veil
All dressed him up.
For a long time the peasant
Waiting for winter and cold.
And a straw hut
He hid outside.
To the wind in the hut
Don't get through the cracks.
Wouldn't blow snow
Blizzards and blizzards.
He is now calm
All around is covered
And he's not afraid
Evil frost angry.
Dark forest with a hat
Covered up wonderful
And froze under her
Strong, unshakable...
God's days are short
The sun shines a little
Here comes the frost
And winter has come.
Laborer-peasant
Pulled out the sled
snowy mountains
The kids are building.
Winter sings - calls out
Sergey Yesenin
Winter sings - calls out
Shaggy forest cradles
The call of a pine forest.
Around with deep longing
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And outside the window a blizzard
Spreads like a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful
Like orphan children
Huddled at the window.
Little birds are chilled,
Hungry, tired
And they huddle tighter.
A blizzard with a furious roar
Knocks on the shutters hung
And getting more and more angry.
And gentle birds doze
Under these whirlwinds of snow
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Birch
White birch
under my window
covered with snow,
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
snow border
Brushes blossomed
White fringe.
And there is a birch
In sleepy silence.
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire
And the dawn is lazy
Walking around,
Sprinkles branches
New silver.
winter meeting
I. Nikitin
Hello winter guest!
Please have mercy on us
Sing the songs of the north
Through forests and steppes.
We have a space -
Walk anywhere.
Build bridges across rivers
And lay out the carpets.
We do not become accustomed.-
Let your frost crackle:
Our Russian blood
It burns in the cold.
powder
S. Yesenin
I'm going. quiet. Ringing is heard
Under the hoof in the snow
Only gray crows
Made a noise in the meadow.
Bewitched by the invisible.
The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep,
Like a white scarf
The pine has tied up.
Bent over like an old lady
Leaned on a stick
And above the crown
The woodpecker hammers at the bitch.
The horse is jumping. Lots of space
Snow falls and spreads a shawl.
Endless road
Runs off into the distance.
wonderful picture
Athanasius Fet
wonderful picture,
How are you related to me?
white plain,
Full moon,
High heaven's light
And shining snow
And distant sleigh
Lonely run.
Enchantress Winter
Fedor Tyutchev
Enchantress Winter
The forest is bewitched,
And under the snowy fringe,
Motionless, dumb
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive
Magically enchanted by sleep
All entangled, all bound
Light chain down…
Is the winter sun mosque
On him his ray oblique -
Nothing trembles in it
He will flare up and shine
Dazzling beauty.
Mum! Look out the window -
Know yesterday is not for nothing cat
Washed the nose
There is no dirt, the whole yard is dressed,
Brightened, whitened -
Apparently it's cold.
Not prickly, light blue,
Frost is hung on the branches -
Just look at you!
Like someone tattered
Fresh, white, plump cotton
Removed all bushes.
Now there will be no dispute.
Behind the sled, uphill
Fun to run.
Really, mom? You won't refuse
And you might say to yourself:
"Well, hurry up, take a walk! »
In the wild north
Mikhail Lermontov
Stands alone in the wild north
Pine on the bare top.
And dozing, swaying, and loose snow
She is dressed like a robe.
And she dreams of everything that is in the distant desert -
In the region where the sun rises
Alone and sad on a rock with fuel
A beautiful palm tree is growing.
Winter morning
A. S. Pushkin
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, my lovely friend.
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open eyes closed by bliss
Towards the northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!
Evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
In the cloudy sky, a haze hovered;
The moon is like a pale spot
Turned yellow through the gloomy clouds,
And you sat sad -
And now ... look out the window:
Under blue skies
splendid carpets,
Snow glittering in the sun,
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river under the ice glitters.
The whole room amber gleam
Enlightened. Cheerful crackling
The fired oven crackles.
It's nice to think by the couch.
But you know: do not order to the sled
Harness the red filly?
Gliding through the morning snow
Dear friend, let's run
An impatient horse.
And visit the empty fields
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.
dilapidated hut
Alexander Blok
dilapidated hut
All covered in snow.
Grandmother - old woman
Looks out the window.
For the naughty grandchildren
Knee-deep snow.
Cheerful for the kids
Fast sled run...
running, laughing,
Making a snow house
In the snow house
Razor game.
Fingers get cold
It's time to go home!
Drink tea tomorrow
They look out the window.-
And the house melted
In the yard - a vein!
Snow yes snow
Alexander Blok
Snow yes snow. The whole hut was covered.
The snow is white all around knee-deep.
So frosty, light and white!
Only black, black walls.
And the breath comes out of my lips
Steam freezing in the air.
There's smoke coming out of the chimneys
They are sitting in the window with a samovar.
Old grandfather sat at the table
Bent over and blows on a saucer
Vaughn and grandmother slipped from the stove,
And all around the kids are laughing.
The guys hid, they look,
How does a cat play with kittens ...
Suddenly guys squeaky kittens
They threw it back into the basket...
Away from home to the snowy expanse
they rode on sledges.
The yard resounds with shouts -
They made a giant out of snow!
Stick in the nose, eyeballs
And put on a shaggy hat.
And he stands, a childish thunderstorm,
Here he will take it, here he will grab it in an armful!
And the guys laugh, shout,
The giant they got out on the glory!
And the old woman looks at her grandchildren,
Do not contradict the childish temper.
Here are such wonderful poems about the winter of Russian poets that you can read with children on winter evenings.
What poems of Russian poets do you like? Write in the comments.
