The sad time of the eyes is the charm of the poet. Poems about autumn - the best poems about autumn

That's all true, but is this a reason not to love autumn - after all, it has a special charm. It is not for nothing that Russian poets, from Pushkin to Pasternak, so often wrote about autumn, praising the beauty of golden foliage, the romance of rainy, foggy weather, and the invigorating power of cool air. AiF.ru has collected the best poems about autumn.

Alexander Pushkin

It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I’m full of life again - that’s my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).

State Museum-Reserve of A. S. Pushkin “Mikhailovskoye”. Pskov region. Photo: www.russianlook.com

Nikolay Nekrasov

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
Fragile ice on a chilly river
It lies like melting sugar;
Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not yet faded,
Yellow and fresh, they lie like a carpet.
Glorious autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi,
And moss swamps and stumps -
Everything is fine under the moonlight,
Everywhere I recognize my native Rus'...
I fly quickly on cast iron rails,
I think my thoughts...

Photo: Shutterstock.com / S.Borisov

Konstantin Balmont

And again autumn with the charm of rusty leaves,
Ruddy, scarlet, yellow, gold,
The silent blue of lakes, their thick waters,
The agile whistle and takeoff of tits in the oak forests.
Camel piles of majestic clouds,
The faded azure of the cast skies,
All around, the dimension of steep features,
The ascended vault, at night in starry glory.
Who's dreaming emerald blue
Drunk in the summer hour, sad at night.
The whole past appears before him with his own eyes.
The surf beats quietly in the Milky Stream.
And I freeze, falling to the center,
Through the darkness of separation, my love, from you.

Fyodor Tyutchev

There are in the brightness of autumn evenings
Touching, mysterious charm:
The ominous shine and diversity of trees,
Crimson leaves languid, light rustle,
Misty and quiet azure
Over the sad orphaned land,
And, like a premonition of descending storms,
Gusty, cold wind at times,
Damage, exhaustion - and everything
That gentle smile of fading,
What in a rational being we call
Divine modesty of suffering.

Afanasy Fet

When the end-to-end web
Spreads threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,
We're not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer
We understand more clearly.

Sergey Yesenin

Quietly in the juniper thicket along the cliff.
Autumn, a red mare, scratches her mane.
Above the river bank cover
The blue clang of her horseshoes is heard.
The schema-monk-wind steps cautiously
Crumples leaves over road ledges
And kisses on the rowan bush
Red ulcers for the invisible Christ.

Painting "Golden Autumn". Ilya Ostroukhov, 1886-1887 Oil on canvas. Photo: www.russianlook.com

Ivan Bunin

The autumn wind rises in the forests,
It moves noisily through the thicket,
Dead leaves are torn off and having fun
Carries in a mad dance.
He will just freeze, fall down and listen,
Will wave again, and behind him
The forest will hum, tremble - and they will fall
Leaves rain golden.
Blows like winter, frosty blizzards,
Clouds are floating in the sky...
Let everything that is dead and weak perish
And return to dust!
Winter blizzards are the forerunners of spring,
Winter blizzards must
Bury under the cold snow
Dead by the time spring arrives.
In the dark autumn the earth takes refuge
Yellow foliage, and under it
Vegetation of shoots and herbs slumbers,
Juice of life-giving roots.
Life begins in mysterious darkness.
Its joy and destruction
Serve the imperishable and unchangeable -
The eternal beauty of Being!

Painting “On the veranda. Autumn". Stanislav Zhukovsky. 1911 Photo: www.russianlook.com

Boris Pasternak

Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.
Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.
Buried Land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flipping through the cold.

© Camille Pissarro, “Boulevard Montmartre”

© John Constable, “Autumn Sunset”

© Edward Kukuel, “Autumn Sun”

© Guy Dessard, “Autumn Motifs”

© Wassily Kandinsky, “Autumn in Bavaria”

© James Tissot, “October”

© Isaac Levitan, “Autumn Day”

© Isaac Levitan, “Golden Autumn”

© Francesco Bassano, “Autumn”

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!...

Alexander Pushkin

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!






And distant gray winter threats.

Already the sky in autumn breathed...

Alexander Pushkin

The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she stripped herself,
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.

Autumn morning

Alexander Pushkin

There was a noise; field pipe
My solitude has been announced,
And with the image of a mistress draga
The last dream has flown away.
The shadow of the night has already rolled down from the sky.
The dawn has risen, the pale day is shining -
And all around me there is desolation...
She's gone... I was off the coast,
Where my dear went on a clear evening;
On the shore, in the green meadows
I didn't find any barely visible traces,
Left by her beautiful foot.
Wandering thoughtfully in the depths of the forests,
I pronounced the name of the incomparable;
I called her - and a solitary voice
Empty valleys called her into the distance.
He came to the stream, attracted by dreams;
Its streams flowed slowly,
The unforgettable image did not tremble in them.
She's gone!.. Until sweet spring
I said goodbye to bliss and to my soul.
Already autumn's cold hand
The heads of birch and linden trees are bare,
She rustles in the deserted oak groves;
There a yellow leaf spins day and night,
There is fog on the chilled waves,
And an instant whistling of the wind is heard.
Fields, hills, familiar oak forests!
Keepers of sacred silence!
Witnesses of my melancholy, fun!
You are forgotten... until sweet spring!

Autumn

Alexander Pushkin

October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.

Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I am sick;
The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.
I'm happier in the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,
When under the sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!

How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,
Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is finally true for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century
We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids
Or sour at the stoves behind double glass.

Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.
You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,
You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;
Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -
We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,
And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,
We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.

The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,
Quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,
Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,
There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,
I found something in her like a wayward dream.

How to explain this? I like her,
Like you probably are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.
A smile is visible on faded lips;
She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;
There is still a crimson color playing on the face.
She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.

It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter.

And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I'm full of life again - that's my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).

They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,
Waving his mane, he carries the rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace
The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it
Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.

And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I'm sweetly lulled by my imagination,
And poetry awakens in me:
The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,
It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,
To finally pour out with free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.

And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the poems will flow freely.
So the ship slumbers motionless in the motionless moisture,
But choo! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.

Kibereva Elizaveta

One of the topics in the “Listening to Music” lesson was a conversation about the seasons. I especially liked the autumn season and, while doing my homework, I decided to take a closer look at the theme of “Autumn” in painting, literature and music.

Having started work, I discovered that I knew few poems about autumn, was almost unfamiliar with paintings, and only one piece of music came to mind.

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NG MBOU DOD "Children's Music School named after. V.V. Andreeva"

City competition of research projects “The History of a Masterpiece”

Nomination "Musical Art"

Sad time, charm of the eyes.....

Kibireva Elizaveta

1st grade student

vocal department

Supervisor:

Korolkova M.A.

teacher

theoretical disciplines

Nefteyugansk, 2013.

• Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

• Main part. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

• Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

• Application. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

Introduction.

In September of this year, I, like many children my age, went to first grade. My long-time dream was to learn to sing and play an instrument, so I entered the music school named after Vasily Vasilyevich Andreev and became a student in the vocal department. In addition to vocal lessons, I attend solfeggio and listening to music, learning to play the piano.

One of the topics in the “Listening to Music” lesson was a conversation about the seasons. I especially liked the autumn season and, while doing my homework, I decided to take a closer look at the theme of “Autumn” in painting, literature and music.

Having started work, I discovered that I knew few poems about autumn, was almost unfamiliar with paintings, and only one piece of music came to mind. Then I decided to conduct a survey among my comrades and ask them these questions.

Do you know poems about autumn?

Do you know any paintings about autumn?

Do you know musical works, songs about autumn?

After the survey, it was concluded that my comrades know very few poems (two out of 14), don’t know paintings at all (not a single positive answer out of 14), and know a little more songs (three out of 14).

Main part.

In autumn, nature becomes quiet, as if preparing for winter sleep, it seems tired, tired. The trees are throwing off their leaves. Birds are leaving us and flying to warm countries. When you look at this fading autumn nature, you are overcome by different feelings: tenderness, surprise from admiring the beauty, and sadness from saying goodbye to summer, the warmth that the beauty of autumn is leaving. If we compare the time of year with the time of day, then spring is the morning, because everything wakes up and begins to move, summer is the middle of the day, and autumn is twilight, evening, the end of the day.

Autumn can be so different! In early autumn, nature is decorated with a multi-colored outfit. You won’t see any colors and shades! And in late autumn it rains, the leaves fall, all the fabulous beauty of nature fades and goes away. It's sad to see bare trees, clouds and puddles.

To paint a picture, the artist has paints, the poets have words, the composer has only sounds. But you can draw beautifully with them, as Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky does. In the melodious melody of Tchaikovsky “Autumn Song” there is a parting with the passing summer, regret about the fading nature. The work is dominated by sad intonations - sighs. The melody brings back memories and nostalgia. In it, a sad autumn landscape and a person’s mood are fused together. Listening to “Autumn Song,” it’s easy to imagine an empty veranda, strewn with withered leaves, and the sounds of a piano coming from afar... This is my favorite work.

S. Yu. Zhukovsky was probably filled with similar feelings when creating his painting “Autumn. Veranda” (Appendix No. 1).

One of the most famous artists who loved to paint autumn is Isaac Ilyich Levitan. Autumn was Levitan's favorite time of year, and he dedicated many paintings to it.

The painting “Golden Autumn” is one of the artist’s best creations; bright colors and solemn peace create a feeling of the greatness of nature. Looking at the pictures, I just want to exclaim: “It’s a sad time! The charm of the eyes!”, “Lush decay of nature”, “Forests dressed in crimson and gold.” How accurately and aptly Pushkin described his favorite time of year in his famous poems, and the artist depicted autumn, putting a flurry of feelings and experiences into the paintings (Appendix No. 2).

In the picture we see a birch grove in copper-gold autumn decoration. In the depths of the meadow the river is lost, on the left bank of which there are slender white-yellow birch trees and two aspen trees with almost fallen leaves. The ground is covered with yellowing withered grass. And on the right bank of the river there is a row of still green willows, which seem to resist autumn withering. The river surface seems motionless and cold. The autumn day depicted by the artist is full of light.

The same rich autumn decoration appears before us in the painting by V.D. Polenova "Golden Autumn" (Appendix No. 3).

A poem by Sergei Yesenin surprisingly suits this picture:

The golden grove dissuaded

Birch, cheerful language,

And the cranes, sadly flying,

They don’t regret anything anymore...

The mood of this picture is similar to the musical work “Autumn” from the cycle “The Seasons” by A. Vivaldi. Listening to music, we can imagine the following picture: autumn leaves, falling, spinning in a waltz, the sun is shining, birds, smoothly flapping their wings, fly away to the south.

Both musical works and the painting “Golden Autumn”depict calm autumn weather.

These works impressed me very much and I also wanted to depict autumn, to convey my mood in the drawing, inspired by the melody (Appendix No. 4, No. 5).

But autumn is not only golden with a clear azure sky! Autumn weather can be sad and cheerful, sunny and cloudy, golden and gray.

During vocal lessons, I became acquainted with the song “Autumn” based on the verses of A. Pleshcheev. The scale is minor and the melody returns to the same note. It depicts a picture of autumn weather:

Autumn has come

The flowers have dried up,

And they look sad

Bare bushes.

Withers and turns yellow

Grass in the meadows

It's just turning green

Winter in the fields.

A cloud covers the sky

The sun doesn't shine

The wind howls in the field,

The rain is drizzling.

The waters began to rustle

of the fast stream,

The birds have flown away

To warmer climes.

This poem is consonant with “Autumn Melody” by A. Rybnikov. The music expresses a melancholy, depressed, sad mood, consonant with the uncomfortable, joyless picture of fading nature. The music is monotonous, plaintive, and even some disturbing notes can be heard. Notes of regret for the passing warmth and beauty.

This is exactly how Isaac Levitan saw autumn in his painting “Autumn” (Appendix No. 6).

And in the film “Autumn” by Stanislav Yulianovich Zhukovsky, real autumn bad weather played out! (Appendix No. 7).

Looking at this uncomfortable landscape, you can hear the sound of the wind, carrying the last wet leaves and gray clouds into the distance, merging with the restless notes of the work “The Storm” by L. V. Beethoven.

Conclusion.

Composers, poets and artists see the nature of autumn in different ways, and convey their impressions in different ways with the help of colors, intonations, comparisons: composers - in music, poets - in poetry, artists - in their paintings.

“Sad time” or “charm of the eyes”... One way or another, autumn has always inspired poets, artists and musicians to create great masterpieces. Such a different autumn: in some works there is a celebration of colors and the triumph of nature, in others there is light sadness, nostalgia, and bad weather.

Autumn is a time of magical transformation of nature, which generously gives the last rays of warmth, preparing to sleep for many months under a fluffy winter blanket.

Autumn is a time of year that leaves no one indifferent. That’s why poets and writers dedicated such wonderful lines to autumn. Artists have painted many paintings of autumn nature, which are masterpieces and never cease to delight us. With the richness of its colors, autumn attracted the attention of great composers who sang its beauty.

I love autumn, perhaps because I was born in October. Perhaps because “Autumn Song” by P.I. Tchaikovsky is one of the favorite works for me and my mother. I dream of learning to play the piano and performing “Autumn Song” for her one fine October evening...

Application.

Literature.

Autumn (Z. Fedorovskaya)

Autumn was blooming at the edges of the colors,

I quietly ran a brush across the foliage:

The hazel trees turned yellow and the maples glowed,

In the autumn purple there is only green oak.

Autumn consoles:

Don't regret summer!

Look - the grove is dressed in gold!

*** (A. Pushkin)

The sky was already breathing in autumn,

The sun shone less often,

The day was getting shorter

Mysterious forest canopy

With a sad noise she stripped herself,

Fog lay over the fields,

Noisy caravan of geese

Stretched to the south: approaching

Quite a boring time;

It was already November outside...

Autumn (V. Avdienko)

Autumn walks along the path,

Got my feet wet in puddles.

It's raining

And there is no light.

Summer is lost somewhere.

Autumn is coming

Autumn is wandering.

Wind from maple leaves

Reset.

There's a new rug under your feet,

Yellow-pink -

Maple.

*** (A. Pleshcheev)

Boring picture!

Endless clouds

The rain keeps pouring down

Puddles by the porch

Stunted rowan

Gets wet under the window;

Looks at the village

A gray spot.

Why are you visiting early?

Has autumn come to us?

The heart still asks

Light and warmth!

*** (A.S. Pushkin)

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,

In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,

And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,

And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,

And distant threats of gray winter.

Autumn (A.N. Maikov)

There's already a golden leaf covering

Wet soil in the forest...

I boldly trample my foot

The beauty of the spring forest.

Cheeks are burning from the cold:

I like to run in the forest,

Hear the branches crack,

Rake the leaves with your feet!

I don’t have the same joys here!

The forest has taken away the secret:

The last nut has been picked

The last flower is plucked;

The moss is not raised, not dug up

A pile of curly milk mushrooms;

Doesn't hang near the stump

Purple of lingonberry clusters;

Lies on the leaves for a long time

The nights are frosty, and through the forest

Looks kind of cold

The clarity of transparent skies...

Autumn (K. Balmont)

Lingonberries are ripening,

The days have become colder,

And from the bird's cry

It only makes my heart sadder.

Flocks of birds fly away

Away, beyond the blue sea,

All the trees are shining

In a multi-colored dress.

The sun laughs less often.

There is no incense in the flowers.

Autumn will wake up soon

And he will cry sleepily.

Autumn tales and stories.

I. S. Turgenev Autumn day in a birch grove(excerpt from the story “Date” from the series “Notes of a Hunter”). The action of many of the stories in “Notes of a Hunter” also takes place in the fall.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov Short stories about autumn: Autumn,Deciduous Fairy tale, Forest in autumn, Autumn in the forest, The hot summer has flown by, Autumn in Chun.

N. G. Garin-MikhailovskyAutumn Poem in prose.

I. A. Bunin Antonov apples.

K. G. Paustovskyyellow light, PresentA story about autumnBadger nose, Farewell to summer, What types of rains are there?(Excerpt from the story “Golden Rose”),My house, Dictionary of native nature.

V. Sukhomlinsky I want to have my say.

K. D. Ushinsky Stories and tales Autumn.

M. M. Prishvin Poetic miniatures about autumn.

N. I. Sladkov Autumn in the forest, Autumn is on the doorstep, Forest hiding placesSeptember(Autumn is on the threshold, On the great path, Spider, Time, Birds, Squirrel fly agaric, Winged shadow, Owl that was forgotten, Sly dandelion, Friends and comrades, Forest rustles),October(Sewing, Scary Invisible Man,

Pheasant bouquet, Trees creaking, The mystery of the birdhouse, Old acquaintance, Magpie train, Autumn Christmas tree, Stubborn finch, Forest rustles, Magic shelf),November(Why is November piebald? Resort “Icicle”, Powder, Wagtail letters, Desperate hare, Tit stock, Starlings have arrived, Forest rustles).

G. A. Skrebitsky Autumn(Story from the book “Four Artists”).

G. Ya. Snegirev Blueberry jam.

V. G. Suteev Apple.

V. V. Bianki

Autumn is “a sad time...”, the favorite time of year for poets, philosophers, romantics and melancholics. Poems about autumn will “swirl” with words-winds, “drizzle” with stanzas-rains, “are replete” with epithets-leaves... Feel the breath of autumn in autumn poems for children and adults.

see also

Autumn poems for children, poems by Pushkin, Yesenin, Bunin about autumn

Poems about autumn: A. S. Pushkin

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.

AUTUMN

(excerpt)

October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.
The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
To the departing fields with my desire,
And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.

The sky was already breathing in autumn,
The sun shone less often,
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
She stripped herself naked with a sad noise.
Fog lay over the fields,
Noisy caravan of geese
Stretched to the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was already November outside the yard.

Poems about autumn:

Agniya Barto

JOKE ABOUT SHUROCHKA

Leaf fall, leaf fall,
The whole team rushed into the garden,
Shurochka came running.

The leaves (can you hear?) rustle:
Shurochka, Shurochka...

Shower of lace leaves
Rustle about her alone:
Shurochka, Shurochka...

Swept three leaves,
I approached the teacher:
- Things are going well!
(I’m working hard, keep in mind, they say,
Praise Shurochka,
Shurochka, Shurochka...)

How does the link work?
Shura doesn't care
Just to point out
Whether in the classroom, or in the newspaper,
Shurochka, Shurochka...

Leaf fall, leaf fall,
The garden is buried in leaves,
The leaves rustle sadly:
Shurochka, Shurochka...

Poems about autumn:

Alexey Pleshcheev

Boring picture!
Endless clouds
The rain keeps pouring down
Puddles by the porch...
Stunted rowan
Gets wet under the window
Looks at the village
A gray spot.
Why are you visiting early?
Has autumn come to us?
The heart still asks
Light and warmth!..

AUTUMN SONG

Summer has passed
Autumn has arrived.
In the fields and groves
Empty and sad.

The birds have flown away
The days have become shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.

AUTUMN

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

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

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

The waters began to rustle
of the fast stream,
The birds have flown away
To warmer climes.

Poems about autumn:

Ivan Bunin

LEAF FALL

The forest is like a painted tower,
Lilac, gold, crimson,
A cheerful, motley wall
Standing above a bright clearing.

Birch trees with yellow carving
Glisten in the blue azure,
Like towers, the fir trees are darkening,
And between the maples they turn blue
Here and there through the foliage
Clearances in the sky, like a window.
The forest smells of oak and pine,
Over the summer it dried out from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
Enters his motley mansion...

There are dry corn stalks in the fields,

Wheel marks and faded tops.
In the cold sea - pale jellyfish
And red underwater grass.

Fields and autumn. Sea and naked
Cliffs of rocks. It's night and here we go
To the dark shore. At sea - lethargy
In all its great mystery.

“Can you see the water?” - “I see only mercury
Foggy shine..." Neither sky nor earth.
Only the shine of stars hangs below us - in the muddy
Bottomless phosphoric dust.

Poems about autumn:

Boris Pasternak

GOLD AUTUMN

Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.

Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.

Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch tree - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.

Buried land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.

Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.

Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.

Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.

Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flipping through the cold.

Poems about autumn:

Nikolay Nekrasov

UNCOMPRESSED BAND

Late fall. The rooks have flown away
The forest is bare, the fields are empty,

Only one strip is not compressed...
She makes me sad.

The ears seem to whisper to each other:
“It’s boring for us to listen to the autumn blizzard,

It's boring to bow down to the ground,
Fat grains bathing in dust!

Every night we are ruined by the villages1
Every passing voracious bird,

The hare tramples us, and the storm beats us...
Where is our plowman? what else is waiting?

Or are we worse born than others?
Or did they bloom and spike unharmoniously?

No! we are no worse than others - and for a long time
The grain has filled and ripened within us.

It was not for this reason that he plowed and sowed
So that the autumn wind will scatter us?..”

The wind brings them a sad answer:
- Your plowman has no urine.

He knew why he plowed and sowed,
Yes, I didn’t have the strength to start the work.

The poor fellow is feeling bad - he doesn’t eat or drink,
The worm is sucking his aching heart,

The hands that made these furrows,
They dried up into slivers and hung like whips.

As if laying your hand on a plow,
The plowman walked thoughtfully along the strip.

Poems about autumn:

Agniya Barto

We didn't notice the bug
And the winter frames were closed,
And he's alive, he's alive for now,
Buzzing in the window
Spreading my wings...
And I call my mother for help:
-There's a living beetle there!
Let's open the frame!

Poems about autumn:

V. Stepanov

SPARROW

Autumn looked into the garden -
The birds have flown away.
There's rustling outside the window in the morning
Yellow snowstorms.
The first ice is underfoot
It crumbles, breaks.
The sparrow in the garden will sigh,
And sing -
Shy.

Poems about autumn:

Konstantin Balmont

AUTUMN

Lingonberries are ripening,
The days have become colder,
And from the bird's cry
My heart became sadder.

Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees are shining
In a multi-colored dress.

The sun laughs less often
There is no incense in the flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And he will cry sleepily.

Poems about autumn:

Apollo Maykov

AUTUMN

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

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

I don’t have the same joys here!
The forest took away the secret:
The last nut has been picked
The last flower has tied;

The moss is not raised, not dug up
A pile of curly milk mushrooms;
Doesn't hang near the stump
Purple of lingonberry clusters;

Lying on the leaves for a long time
The nights are frosty, and through the forest
Looks kind of cold
The clarity of transparent skies...

The leaves rustle underfoot;
Death lays down its harvest...
Only I am happy at heart
And I sing like crazy!

I know, it’s not for nothing that among the moss
I picked early snowdrops;
Down to the autumn flowers
Every flower I met.

What did the soul tell them?
What did they tell her?
I will remember, breathing with happiness,
On winter nights and days!

The leaves rustle underfoot...
Death is laying down its harvest!
Only I am happy at heart -
And I sing like crazy!

Autumn leaves are circling in the wind,

Autumn leaves cry out in alarm:
“Everything is dying, everything is dying! You are black and naked
O our dear forest, your end has come!”

Their royal forest does not hear the alarm.
Under the dark azure of harsh skies
He was swaddled by mighty dreams,
And the strength for a new spring matures in him.

Poems about autumn:

Nikolay Ogarev

IN AUTUMN

How good the spring bliss was sometimes -
And the soft freshness of green herbs,
And leaves of young fragrant shoots
Along the trembling branches of the awakened oak forests,
And the day has a luxurious and warm glow,
And a gentle fusion of bright colors!
But you are closer to my heart, autumn tides,
When a tired forest falls on the soil of a compressed cornfield
The yellowed leaves are blowing with a whisper,
And the sun later from the desert heights,
Filled with bright despondency, he looks...
So the peaceful memory silently illuminates
And past happiness and past dreams.

Poems about autumn:

Alexander Tvardovsky

NOVEMBER

The Christmas tree has become more noticeable in the forest,
It is tidied up before dark and is empty.
And naked as a broom,
Clogged with mud by the dirt road,
Blown by ash frost,
The vine bush trembles and whistles.

Between the thinning tops

Blue appeared.
Made a noise at the edges
Bright yellow foliage.
You can't hear the birds. Small cracks
Broken branch
And, flashing its tail, a squirrel
The light one makes a jump.
The spruce tree has become more noticeable in the forest,
Protects dense shade.
The last aspen boletus
He pulled his hat on one side.

Poems about autumn:

Afanasy Fet

IN AUTUMN

When the end-to-end web
Spreads threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,

We're not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer
We understand more clearly.

Poems about autumn:

Fedor Tyutchev

There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...
The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...

Poems about autumn:

Sergey Yesenin

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
Which is very, very little
All we have to do is wait for the gray winter...

Children's poems about autumn

E. Trutneva

In the morning we go to the yard -
Leaves are falling like rain,
They rustle underfoot
And they fly... they fly... they fly...

Cobwebs fly by
With spiders in the middle,
And high from the ground
The cranes flew by.

Everything is flying! This must be
Our summer is flying away.

A. Berlova

NOVEMBER
Hands get cold in November:
Cold, wind outside,
Late autumn brings
First snow and first ice.

SEPTEMBER
Autumn has brought out the colors,
She needs a lot of painting:
Leaves are yellow and red,
Gray – the sky and puddles.

OCTOBER
It's been raining since morning,
It's pouring like a bucket,
And like big flowers
Umbrellas open.

****
M. Isakovsky
AUTUMN
The crops have been harvested, the hay has been cut,
Both the suffering and the heat have gone away.
Drowning in foliage knee-deep,
Autumn is in the yard again.

Golden shocks of straw
They lie on collective farm currents.
And guys dear friend
They are in a hurry to go to school.

****
A. Balonsky
IN THE FOREST
Leaves swirl over the path.
The forest is transparent and crimson...
It's good to wander with a basket
Along the edges and clearings!

We are walking, and under our feet
A golden rustle is heard.
Smells like wet mushrooms
It smells like forest freshness.

And behind the foggy haze
The river sparkles in the distance.
Spread it out in the clearings
Autumn yellow silk.

A cheerful ray through the needles
He penetrated into the thicket of the spruce forest.
Good for wet trees
Remove the elastic boletus!

There are beautiful maples on the hillocks
Scarlet flames burst into flames...
How many saffron milk caps, honey fungus
We'll pick it up in the grove in a day!

Autumn is walking through the forests.
There is no time more beautiful than this...
And in baskets we carry away
Forests are generous gifts.

Y. Kasparova

NOVEMBER
Forest animals in November
They close the doors in the minks.
Brown bear until spring
He will sleep and dream.

SEPTEMBER
Birds flew in the sky.
Why can't they stay at home?
September asks them: “In the south
Hide from the winter blizzard."

OCTOBER
October brought us gifts:
Painted gardens and parks,
The leaves became like something out of a fairy tale.
Where did he get so much paint?

I. Tokmakova

SEPTEMBER
Summer is ending
Summer is ending!
And the sun doesn't shine
And he's hiding somewhere.
And the rain is first grade,
A little timid
In an oblique ruler
Lines the window.

Y. Kasparova
AUTUMN LEAVES
The leaves are dancing, the leaves are spinning
And they fall under my feet like a bright carpet.
It's like they're terribly busy
Green, red and gold...
Maple leaves, oak leaves,
Purple, scarlet, even burgundy...
I throw my leaves up at random -
I can arrange leaf fall too!

AUTUMN MORNING
The yellow maple looks into the lake,
Waking up at dawn.
The ground froze overnight,
All the hazel is in silver.

The belated redhead shudders,
Pinned down by a broken branch.
On his chilled skin
The light drops tremble.

Scared away the alarming silence
In a lightly dormant forest
Moose roam cautiously,
They gnaw the bitter bark.

****
M. Sadovsky
AUTUMN
The birches have unbraided their braids,
The maples clapped their hands,
The cold winds have come
And the poplars were flooded.

The willows have drooped by the pond,
The aspen trees began to tremble,
Oak trees, always huge,
It's like they've become smaller.

Everything became quiet. Shrunk.
Drooped. Turned yellow.
Only the Christmas tree is beautiful
Looked better by winter
****
O. Vysotskaya
AUTUMN
Autumn days,
There are large puddles in the garden.
The last leaves
The cold wind swirls.

There are yellow leaves,
There are red leaves.
Let's put it in a wallet
We are different leaves!

The room will be beautiful
Mom will say “thank you” to us!

****
Z. Alexandrova
TO SCHOOL
Yellow leaves are flying,
It's a fun day.
Sees off kindergarten
The kids are going to school.

Our flowers have faded,
Birds fly away.
- You are going for the first time,
Study in first grade.

Sad dolls sitting
On an empty terrace.
Our cheerful kindergarten
Reminisce in class.

Remember the garden
A river in the far field.
We are also in a year
We'll be with you at school.

"The charm of the eyes."
Autumn in poems by Russian poets

That's all true, but is this a reason not to love autumn - after all, it has a special charm. It is not for nothing that Russian poets, from Pushkin to Pasternak, so often wrote about autumn, praising the beauty of golden foliage, the romance of rainy, foggy weather, and the invigorating power of cool air.

Alexander Pushkin

It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant threats of gray winter.

And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I feel love again for the habits of life:
One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;
The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,
I'm full of life again - that's my body
(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).

Nikolay Nekrasov

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
Fragile ice on a chilly river
It lies like melting sugar;
Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get a good night's sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not yet faded,
Yellow and fresh, they lie like a carpet.
Glorious autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi,
And moss swamps and stumps -
Everything is fine under the moonlight,
Everywhere I recognize my native Rus'...
I fly quickly on cast iron rails,
I think my thoughts...

Photo: Shutterstock.com / S.Borisov

Konstantin Balmont

And again autumn with the charm of rusty leaves,
Ruddy, scarlet, yellow, gold,
The silent blue of lakes, their thick waters,
The agile whistle and takeoff of tits in the oak forests.
Camel piles of majestic clouds,
The faded azure of the cast skies,
All around, the dimension of steep features,
The ascended vault, at night in starry glory.
Who's dreaming emerald blue
Drunk in the summer hour, sad at night.
The whole past appears before him with his own eyes.
The surf beats quietly in the Milky Stream.
And I freeze, falling to the center,
Through the darkness of separation, my love, from you.

Fyodor Tyutchev

There are in the brightness of autumn evenings
Touching, mysterious charm:
The ominous shine and diversity of trees,
Crimson leaves languid, light rustle,
Misty and quiet azure
Over the sad orphaned land,
And, like a premonition of descending storms,
Gusty, cold wind at times,
Damage, exhaustion - and everything
That gentle smile of fading,
What in a rational being we call
Divine modesty of suffering.

Afanasy Fet

When the end-to-end web
Spreads threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant gospel is heard more clearly,

We're not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer
We understand more clearly.

Sergey Yesenin

Quietly in the juniper thicket along the cliff.
Autumn, a red mare, scratches her mane.

Above the river bank cover
The blue clang of her horseshoes is heard.

The schema-monk-wind steps cautiously
Crumples leaves over road ledges

And kisses on the rowan bush
Red sores to the invisible Christ..

Painting "Golden Autumn". Ilya Ostroukhov, 1886–1887 Oil on canvas

Ivan Bunin

The autumn wind rises in the forests,
It moves noisily through the thicket,
Dead leaves are torn off and having fun
Carries in a mad dance.

He will just freeze, fall down and listen,
Will wave again, and behind him
The forest will hum, tremble - and they will fall
Leaves rain golden.

Blows like winter, frosty blizzards,
Clouds are floating in the sky...
Let everything that is dead and weak perish
And return to dust!

Winter blizzards are the forerunners of spring,
Winter blizzards must
Bury under the cold snow
Dead by the time spring arrives.

In the dark autumn the earth takes refuge
Yellow foliage, and under it
Vegetation of shoots and herbs slumbers,
Juice of life-giving roots.

Life begins in mysterious darkness.
Its joy and destruction
Serve the imperishable and unchangeable -
The eternal beauty of Being!

Painting “On the veranda. Autumn". Stanislav Zhukovsky. 1911

Boris Pasternak

Autumn. Fairytale palace
Open for everyone to review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes.

Like at a painting exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.

Linden gold hoop -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch - under a veil
Bridal and transparent.

Buried Land
Under leaves in ditches, holes.
In the yellow maple outbuildings,
As if in gilded frames.

Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And the sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.

Where you can't step into a ravine,
So that everyone doesn't know:
It's so raging that not a single step
There is a tree leaf underfoot.

Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echo at a steep descent
And dawn cherry glue
Solidifies in the form of a clot.

Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flipping through the cold.