Who wrote the sad time of the eyes. Dull time, charm of the eyes. Whether through our windows

"Persecuted by vernal rays ..." (excerpt from the novel "Eugene Onegin") Persecuted by vernal rays, From the surrounding mountains already snows Fled with muddy streams To the sunken meadows. With a clear smile, nature Greets the morning of the year through sleep; The blue shines in the skies. Still transparent, forests As if in peace

“Eugene Onegin” We confess: not without some timidity we begin to critically examine such a poem as “Eugene Onegin.” (1) And this timidity is justified by many reasons. "Onegin" is Pushkin's most sincere work, the most beloved child of his fantasy and

"Eugene Onegin" (End) Pushkin's great feat is that he was the first in his novel to poetically reproduce the Russian society of that time and, in the person of Onegin and Lensky, showed its main, that is, male, side; but the feat of our poet is almost higher in that he is the first

Belinsky V. G "Eugene Onegin"

"Eugene Onegin" (end) Pushkin's great feat is that he was the first in his novel to poetically reproduce the Russian society of that time and, in the person of Onegin and Lensky, showed its main, that is, the male side; but the feat of our poet is almost higher in that he is the first

NG Bykova "Eugene Onegin" The novel "Eugene Onegin" occupies a central place in the work of Alexander Pushkin. This is his largest work of fiction, the richest in content, the most popular, which had the most powerful influence on the fate of the entire Russian

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It's a sad time! Charm of the eyes!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the lush wilting of nature,

Crimson and gold clad forests,

There is noise and fresh breath in their canopy,

And the heavens are covered with a wavy mist,

And a rare sunbeam, and the first frosts,

And distant gray winters are threats.

A. S. Pushkin

****

Boring picture!

Endless clouds

The rain is pouring down

Puddles by the porch ...

Stunted mountain ash

It gets wet under the window

Looking at the village

A gray spot.

That you are early to visit

Autumn has come to us?

The heart still asks

Light and warmth! ....

Alexey Pleshcheev

AUTUMN SONG

Summer has passed

Autumn has come.

In the fields and groves

Empty and sad.

The birds flew away

The days are shorter

The sun is not visible

Dark, dark nights.

Alexey Pleshcheev

AUTUMN

Autumn has come

The flowers have dried up

And they look sadly

Bare bushes.

Withers and turns yellow

Grass in the meadows

Only turns 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 water rustled

Fast stream

The birds flew away

To warm lands.

Alexey Pleshcheev

LISTOPAD

The forest, as if we were looking at a painted one,

Purple, gold, crimson,

With a cheerful, colorful wall

Stands over a bright glade.

Birch yellow carving

Shine in the azure blue,

Like towers, Christmas trees darken

And between the maples turn blue

Here and there in the foliage through

Clearances in the sky, that little window.

The forest smells like oak and pine

Over the summer he dried up from the sun,

And Autumn is a quiet widow

He enters his motley tower ...

Ivan Bunin

BUG

We didn't see the beetle

And the winter frames were closed,

And he is alive, he is still alive,

Buzzing in the window

Spread your wings ...

And I call my mother for help:

-There is a beetle alive!

Let's open the frame!

Agniya Barto

SPARROW

Autumn looked into the garden -

The birds flew away.

Outside the window in the morning rustling

Yellow blizzards.

The first ice under your feet

Crumbles, breaks.

The sparrow in the garden will sigh

And to sing -

Shy.

V. Stepanov

AUTUMN

The lingonberry ripens

The days got colder

And from the bird cry

My heart became sadder.

Flocks of birds fly away

Away, beyond the blue sea.

All the trees shine

In a multi-colored headdress.

The sun laughs less often

There is no incense in the flowers.

Autumn will wake up soon

And she will cry sleepily.

Constantin Balmont

****

There is in the autumn of the initial

A short but wondrous time -

The whole day is like crystal,

And the evenings are radiant ...

The air is empty, you can't hear the birds anymore,

But far from the first winter storms

And clear and warm azure pours

To the resting field ...

F. Tyutchev

****

Already the sky was breathing in autumn,

Less often the sun shone

The day was getting shorter

Mysterious forest canopy

With a sad noise, she was naked.

Fog fell on the fields,

A noisy caravan geese

Stretched towards the south: approaching

Quite a boring time;

It was November already at the yard.

A. S. Pushkin

AUTUMN FEATURES

Thin birch

Wearing gold.

So it appeared

Autumn is a sign.

The birds fly away

To the land of warmth and light.

Here's another one for you

Autumn is a sign.

Rain drops

All day since dawn

This rain too -

Autumn is a sign.

Proud boy, happy:

After all, he is wearing

School cap,

Bought in the summer.

Girl with a briefcase.

Everyone knows: this is -

Autumn walking

A true omen.

Autumn looked into the garden

Autumn looked into the garden -

The birds flew away.

Outside the window in the morning rustling

Yellow blizzards.

The first ice under your feet

Crumbles, breaks.

The sparrow in the garden will sigh

And to sing - he is shy.

Autumn

Autumn is walking in the forest today

I follow her and carry a broom

Like autumn leaves pluck

Autumn litters, and who should clean?

Ya. Akim

October

Here is a maple leaf on a branch.

Today it is just like new!

All ruddy, golden.

Where are you going, leaf? Wait!

Berestov V.D.

Autumn

Rain, rain

All day

Drumming into the glass.

All the land

The whole earth

Soaked from the water.

Howls, howls

Outside the window

Dissatisfied wind.

He wants to tear down the doors

With squeaky hinges.

Wind, wind, don't knock

In the locked hallway;

Let them burn in our oven

Hot logs.

Hands reach for warmth

The windows are fogged up.

On the wall and on the floor

Shadows danced.

Get together with me

Listen to the fairy tale by the fire!

Treat for the rain

The rain is knocking on our window:

Knock knock knock, let me into the house.

Well, at least a little.

What should we do with the rain?

The guest is inherently unusual,

Who would knock on the window?

Confused, unusual

We should meet such guests.

We are, of course, glad to have guests,

We will always treat you, though,

Tea with cookies, with chocolate,

This is not for the rain.

The rain does not eat jam

No cakes, no sweets

No other treat

What our buffet will offer.

But while we were deciding everything

Than greet him to us,

The drops stopped together

Drum into our glass.

Without waiting for an invitation

The rain has passed, left us

But he, as a consolation,

A rainbow lit up in the sky.

Irina Gurina

Mushrooms

The boletus stands

The red hat is on fire.

Chanterelles crawled out nearby -

Yellow-red sisters,

They grow under the bush without haste

Three russula girlfriends

Pinkish waves

And honey mushrooms, like freckles.

Bright red fly agaric

Decorated with a light forest.

Panama in white dots,

This mushroom is the most dangerous.

Two rows of butter

They look at the king of mushrooms:

An old man in a dark cap -

Enormous boletus!

A. Beresnev

Sly mushrooms

The path took me away

From the porch to the dense forest.

I'm not a little basket

And he took the basket with him.

I looked behind the bumps

Under birch stumps.

Oh, and cunning mushrooms!

Where did they hide?

I was looking for them in vain under the aspen

And I was looking for nothing under the spruce.

Apparently I'm a big basket

I scared all the mushrooms.

A. Beresnev

Scared

Russula

In a red hat

Scared

Not intentionally:

Squirrel jumps

To her from the edge _

Suddenly carry away

For drying?

Autumn

Autumn - redhead girl

Sews outfits thinly-thinly:

Red, burgundy, yellow leaves -

These are scraps.

Autumn

I walk, sad alone:

Autumn is near somewhere.

With a yellow leaf in the river

summer drowned.

I throw a circle to him

your last wreath.

Only summer cannot be saved

If the day is autumn.

Leaf fall, leaf fall,

The yellow leaves are flying.

Yellow maple, yellow beech,

Yellow circle in the sky of the sun.

Yellow courtyard, yellow house.

The whole earth is yellow all around.

Yellowness, yellowness,

This means that autumn is not spring.

V. Nirovich

Mischievous

Spun over me

The rain from the leaves is mischievous.

How good he is!

Where else can you find -

Without end and without beginning?

I began to dance under him

We danced like friends -

Rain of leaves and me.

L. Razvodova

Autumn

A flock of birds flies away

The clouds are rushing about, sobbing.

Like a thin blade of grass

An aspen trembles in the wind.

I tell her:

- Calm down,

Do not be afraid of the white winter

I. Melnichuk

Autumn

A boring rain falls on the ground

And the expanse wilted.

Autumn turned the sun out

Like a light bulb fixer.

V. Schwartz

Autumn

Autumn gives miracles

And what a lot!

The forests are unloaded

The caps are gold.

They sit on a stump in a crowd

Red honey mushrooms,

And a spider - what a dodger! -

Pulls the network somewhere.

Rain and dead grass

Sleepy more often at night

Incomprehensible words

They mutter until morning.

M. Geller

Autumn

If the leaves on the trees turn yellow,

If birds flew to a distant land,

If the sky is gloomy, if the rain is pouring,

This time of year is called autumn.

M. Khodyakova

Autumn

A crow in the sky screams: - Kar-r!

There is a fire in the forest, a fire in the forest!

And it was very simple:

Autumn has settled in it!

E. Intulov

Autumn

Autumn, autumn ...

The sun

It's damp in the clouds -

Even at noon shines

Dull and timid.

From the cold grove

In field,

to the path

Blown out by a hare -

The first

Snowflake.

T. Belozerov

Autumn

Autumn is walking

In our park,

Autumn gives

Gifts for everyone:

Red beads -

Rowan,

Apron pink -

Aspen,

Umbrella yellow -

Poplar,

Autumn fruits

Gives us.

I. Vinokurov

Autumn

Every day the wind is harsher

Tears foliage from branches in the forest ...

Every day it is earlier evening,

And dawn is late.

The sun lingers, as if

There is no strength to rise ...

That's why the morning rises above the ground

Almost at lunchtime.

I. Maznin

In autumn

In the crane sky

The wind carries clouds.

The willow whispers to the willow:

"Autumn. Autumn again!"

The leaves are yellow downpour,

The sun is below the pines.

The willow whispers to the willow:

"Autumn. Autumn is coming!"

On the bush frost

White crying threw.

Oak whispers to mountain ash:

"Autumn. Autumn is coming!"

Whisper to the fir trees

Among the forest forest:

"Will soon notice

And it will start playing soon! "

A. Efimtsev

The fox passed under the bush

And burned the foliage

Tail.

Fire on twigs climbed

And burned

Autumn forest.

N. Krasilnikov

Gathered and flew

Ducks on a long journey.

Under the roots of an old spruce

The bear makes a den.

The hare dressed in white fur,

The bunny became warm.

Carries a squirrel for a month

Reserve mushrooms in a hollow.

Wolves prowl in the dark night

For prey in the forests.

Between the bushes to the sleepy grater

A fox sneaks in.

Hides a nutcracker for the winter

In the old moss nuts cleverly.

Needles are pinched by wood grouses.

They came to winter to us

Northern bullfinches.

E. Golovin

Swans flew away

Swans flew away

From North to South.

Lost the swans

White and white fluff.

Or swan fluff

Glitters in the air

Whether through our windows

First snow

Flies.

V. Prikhodko

Harvest festival

Autumn decorates squares

Colored foliage.

Autumn feeds the harvest

Birds, animals and you and me.

And in the gardens, and in the garden,

Both in the forest and by the water.

Prepared by nature

All kinds of fruits.

The fields are being harvested -

People gather bread.

The mouse drags the grain into the hole,

To have lunch in winter.

Squirrels dry roots

bees store honey.

Grandma is making jam

He puts apples in the cellar.

The harvest was born -

Collect the gifts of nature!

In the cold, in the cold, in the bad weather

The harvest will come in handy!

Tatiana Bokova

October

Here is a maple leaf on a branch.

Today it is just like new!

All ruddy, golden.

Where are you going, leaf? Wait!

Berestov V.D.

Autumn

On a bush-bush -

Yellow leaves

A cloud hangs in blue, -

So it's autumn!

In the red leaves of the coast.

Each leaf is like a flag.

Our autumn park has become stricter.

Bronze will cover everything!

Autumn seems to me too

Preparing for October ...

In the red leaves of the coast.

Each leaf is like a flag!

Ivan Demyanov

Rains are flying

The raindrops are flying,

You can't get out of the gate.

On a wet path

A damp mist is creeping.

At the saddened pines

And fiery rowan trees

Autumn comes and sows

Scented mushrooms!

Ivan Demyanov

Autumn forest every year

Pays in gold to enter.

Look at the aspen -

All dressed in gold

And she babbles:

"I'm cold ..." -

And shivers from the cold.

And the birch is happy

Yellow along:

"What a dress!

What a delight! "

Leaves flew quickly

Frost came suddenly.

And the birch whispers:

"Chill! ..."

Loose and oak

Gilded fur coat.

The oak caught on, but it's too late

And he makes a noise:

"Freezing! Freezing!"

Deceived the gold -

Not saved from the cold.

Autumn treasure

Yellow coins are falling from the branch ...

There is a treasure underfoot!

It's autumn golden

Gives leaves without counting

Golden leaves

To you and us,

And everyone.

I. Pivovarova

"Indian summer"

Indian summer has come -

Days of farewell warmth.

Warmed by the late sun

A fly came to life in the crack.

The sun! What is more beautiful in the world

After a chilly day? ..

Gossamer light yarn

Coiled around the bitch.

It will rain fast tomorrow

A cloud covering the sun.

Silver cobwebs

There are two or three days left to live.

Take pity, autumn! Give us light!

Protect from the winter darkness!

Have pity on us, Indian summer:

These cobwebs are us.

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush wilting of nature,
Crimson and gold clad forests,
There is noise and fresh breath in their canopy,
And the heavens are covered with a wavy mist,
And a rare sunbeam, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winters are threats.

A.S. Pushkin

My dear friend, it's time before
And he flees, punishment from the lyre,
This happens with pain sometimes.

It's a sad time! The rise of wonders and lyre
What can I tell you? - I was made for her,
My friend, confessions of satire,
It will cost us dearly.

It's time to go! It's a sad time!
Beauties of the will of ascent,
Farewell time, she stands around,
From all adversity and the will of the ghost.

I am amazed by you it's time!
I enjoy your beauty again
My wonderful land!
You are my friend, I break through to you.

Ah autumn, autumn, noise and fresh breath,
My sweet forest, watch the day go by
With your energy and pretense,
With the outcome of the will, falls, be a shadow ..

It's time, it's time, autumn charity!
Around colors and magnificent love,
My dear friend, with you I am a ghost,
I walk, I wander, I drive like blood.

It's a sad time! Charm of the eyes
I am with you again, my beloved time,
And as for a laugh, punishment was given to me,
To know everything from anxiety forever.

Reviews

Sad time is not punishment
Autumn is given to everyone for reflection.
It will plunge everything into its silence,
Anxiety from the heart will recede forever.

Shy autumn, as if blushing,
He will invite you to the dance of falling leaves.
Whirls and comforts in his waltz
Breathing light wind will refresh.

Thank you Victoria for the wonderful poems.
Sorry, I just could not restrain myself and added my own.
At any time of the time and year, you can find consolation,
for the heart and soul. I will continue to read your poems.
Sincerely, Alexander.

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It's a sad time! Enchantment of the eyes! ...

Alexander Pushkin

It's a sad time! Charm of the eyes!






And distant gray winters are threats.

Already the sky in the fall breathed ...

Alexander Pushkin

The sky was breathing in autumn
Less often the sun shone
The day was getting shorter
Mysterious forest canopy
With a sad noise she was naked,
Fog fell on the fields,
Goose noisy caravan
Stretched towards the south: approaching
Quite a boring time;
It was November already at the yard.

Autumn morning

Alexander Pushkin

There was a noise; field flute
My solitude has been announced
And with the image of a mistress draga
The last dream flew away.
A shadow had already rolled down from the sky at night.
The dawn has risen, the pale day is shining -
And all around me is a deaf desolation ...
She is gone ... I was at the coast,
Where sweetheart walked in the clear evening;
On the shore, in the green of the meadows
I have not found the barely visible footprints
Left by her beautiful foot.
Wandering thoughtfully in the wilderness of the woods,
I pronounced the name of the incomparable;
I called her - and the voice is lonely
The 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 with bliss and soul.
Already autumn with a cold hand
The heads of birches and lindens are naked,
She rustles in the deserted oak forests;
There is a yellow leaf spinning day and night,
There is fog on the chilled waves,
And an instant wind whistle is heard.
Fields, hills, familiar oak groves!
Keepers of the sacred silence!
Witnesses of my melancholy, fun!
You are forgotten ... until sweet spring!

Autumn

Alexander Pushkin

October has already come - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn cold has died - the road is freezing.
The stream is still running behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
Into the fields away with desire,
And they suffer from wild fun,
And the barking of dogs awakens the sleeping oak groves.

Now is my time: I do not like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - I'm sick in the spring;
Blood ferments; feelings, mind cramped by anguish.
I am more pleased with the harsh winter
I love her snow; in the presence of the moon
Like a light sled run with a friend, it's fast and free,
When under a sable, warm and fresh,
She shakes your hand, blazing and trembling!

How fun, having shod your feet with sharp iron,
Glide on the mirror of stagnant, even rivers!
And the winter holidays are brilliant alarms? ..
But one must know and honor; six months snow and snow,
After all, it is finally for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored. It's impossible for a whole century
We ride in a sleigh with the Young Armids
Or sour at the ovens behind double glass.

Oh, summer is red! I would love you
If not for the heat, yes dust, mosquitoes, and flies.
You, ruining all mental abilities,
You torment us; like fields, we suffer from drought;
Just how to drink, but refresh yourself -
There is no other thought in us, and it's a pity for the old woman's winter,
And, having spent it with pancakes and wine,
We make her commemoration with ice cream and ice.

The days of late autumn are usually scolded,
But she is sweet to me, dear reader,
With quiet beauty, shining humbly.
So unloved child in the family
It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly
From annual times I'm glad only to her alone,
There is a lot of good in it; the lover is not vain
I found something in her a wayward dream.

How can this be explained? I like her,
How likely you are a consumptive maiden
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bends down without murmur, without anger.
The smile on the lips of the faded is visible;
She does not hear the mouth of the grave abyss;
The crimson color plays on the face.
She is still alive today, not tomorrow.

It's a sad time! enchantment of the eyes!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush wilting of nature,
Crimson and gold clad forests,
There is noise and fresh breath in their canopy,
And the heavens are covered with a wavy mist,
And a rare sunbeam, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.

And every fall I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I again feel love for the habits of being:
Sleep flies in succession, hunger in succession;
Blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,
Desires are boiling - I'm happy again, young,
I am full of life again - this is my body
(Please allow me to forgive unnecessary prose).

They lead a horse to me; in the open space,
Waving his mane, he carries a rider,
And loudly under his shining hoof
The frozen valley is ringing and the ice is cracking.
But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireside
The fire is burning again - then a bright light is pouring,
That smolders slowly - and I read before him
Or long thoughts in my soul I feed.

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

And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask to pen, pen to paper,
A minute - and poetry will flow freely.
So the immovable ship slumbers in the still moisture,
But chu! - sailors suddenly rush, crawl
Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the wind is full;
The bulk moved and cut through the waves.

"Autumn" (M.Yu. Lermontov)

The leaves in the field turned yellow

And spin and fly;

Only in the forest did they eat

Keep the gloomy greens.

Under the overhanging rock

Doesn't love, between flowers,

Plowman to rest at times

From midday labors.

Beast, brave, reluctantly

In a hurry to hide somewhere.

At night the month is dim and the field

Through the fog, only silver.

"Autumn" (V. Nabokov)

And again, like in sweet years

Longing, purity and miracles,

Stares into limp waters

Ruddy thinning forest.

Simple as God's forgiveness

The transparent distance spreads.

Ah, autumn, my rapture,

My golden sorrow!

Fresh, and the cobwebs glisten ...

Rustling, I pass along the river,

Through the branches and bunches of rowan

I look at the quiet sky.

And the vault turns blue wide,

And flocks of nomadic birds -

What timid childish lines

In the desert of ancient pages ...

Bad weather - autumn - you smoke

You smoke - everything seems to be small.

At least read - only reading

Moves so sluggishly.

The gray day is crawling lazily

And they talk unbearably

There is a wall clock on the wall

Tongue indefatigably.

The heart is getting cold little by little

And by the hot fireplace

Climbs into the patient's head

Everything is such devilry!

Over a steaming glass

Cooling tea

Thank God, little by little

As if evening, I fall asleep ...

It's a sad time! enchantment of the eyes!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the lush wilting of nature,

Crimson and gold clad forests,

There is noise and fresh breath in their canopy,

And the heavens are covered with a wavy mist,

And a rare sunbeam, and the first frosts,

And distant gray winters are threats.

(Pushkin A.S.)

And every fall I bloom again;

The Russian cold is good for my health;

I again feel love for the habits of being:

Sleep flies in succession, hunger in succession;

Blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,

Desires are boiling - I'm happy again, young,

I am full of life again - this is my body

(Please allow me to forgive unnecessary prose).

(Pushkin A.S.)

"Autumn Sun" (M.Yu. Lermontov)

I love the sun of autumn when,

Making our way between clouds and mists,

It casts a pale dead beam

On a tree shaken by the wind

And to the damp steppe. I love the sun

There is something similar in a farewell look

Great luminary with secret sadness

Deceived love; not colder

It is by itself, but nature

And all that can feel and see

Can't be warmed by it; Yes sir

And the heart: everything is alive in it, but people

Once they did not know how to understand him,

And he shouldn't shine in his eyes again

And he never touches to cheeks.

Why expose the heart a second time

Yourself to ridicule and words of doubt?

"Autumn Evening" (F.I. Tyutchev)

There is in the lightness of autumn evenings

Sweet, mysterious beauty! ..

Ominous shine and variegation of trees,

Crimson leaves languid, light rustle,

Foggy and quiet azure

Over a sad, orphaned land

And, like a premonition of descending storms,

Gusty, cold wind at times,

Damage, exhaustion - and everything

That gentle smile of fading

That in a rational being we call

Divine bashfulness of suffering! ..

"Under the breath of bad weather" (F.I. Tyutchev)

Under the breath of bad weather

Swollen, darkened waters

And covered with lead -

And through their stern gloss

Cloudy crimson evening

Shines with a rainbow beam.

Pours sparks of gold

Sows fire roses,

And carries them away with a stream.

Over a wave of dark azure

The evening is fiery and stormy

Tears off her wreath ...

"Autumn" (S. Yesenin)

Quiet in the thicket of juniper along the cliff.

Autumn, red mare, scratching her manes.

Over the river bank

The blue clank of her horseshoes is heard.

Shemnik-wind with a careful step

Crumples foliage over road ledges

And kisses on a rowan bush

Red ulcers to the invisible Christ.

"Autumn Elegy" (Blok A.A.)

Autumn day descends in slow succession,

A yellow leaf spins slowly

And the day is transparently fresh, and the air is wonderfully clean -

The soul cannot escape invisible decay.

So, every day she tries,

And every year, like a yellow leaf whirls,

Everything seems, and is remembered, and crumpled

That the autumn of the past years was not so sad.

How fleeting is the shadow of early autumn days,

How I want to contain their early anxiety

And this yellow leaf that fell on the road

And this clear day full of shadows -

Then, that the shadows of the day are excesses of beauty,

Then that these days of calm excitement

Carry, give the last inspirations

An excess of flying away dreams.

Autumn. Unaccustomed to lightning.

Blind rains are falling.

Autumn. Trains are overcrowded

Let go! It's all over.

Pasternak B.L.

As a sad look, I love autumn.

I walk on a foggy, quiet day

I often go to the forest and sit there -

I look at the white sky

Yes to the tops of dark pines.

I love biting a sour leaf

With a smile lounging lazy,

Dream to tackle whimsical

Yes, listen to woodpeckers a thin whistle.

The grass has withered all ... cold,

A calm shine spreads over it ...

And the sadness is quiet and free

I surrender my whole soul ...

What won't I remember? What kind

Dreams will not visit me?

And the pines bend like living ones,

And they make such a thoughtful noise ...

And, like a flock of huge birds,

Suddenly the wind will blow

And in twigs, tangled and dark

Impatiently hesitate.

(Turgenev I.S.)

The forest, as if we are looking at a painted one,

Purple, gold, crimson,

With a cheerful, colorful wall

Stands over a bright glade.

Birch trees with yellow carvings

Shine in the azure blue,

Like towers, Christmas trees are darkening,

And between the maples turn blue

Here and there in the foliage through

Clearances in the sky, that little window.

The forest smells like oak and pine

Over the summer he dried up from the sun,

And Autumn is a quiet widow

He enters his motley tower ...

"Golden Autumn" (B. Pasternak)

Autumn. Fairy palace

Open for everyone to review.

Forest paths clearings

Looking into the lakes.

As in the painting exhibition:

Halls, halls, halls, halls

Elm, ash, aspen

In unprecedented gilding.

Linden hoop gold -

Like a crown on a newlywed.

The face of a birch - under the veil

Wedding and transparent.

Buried earth

Under foliage in ditches, holes.

In the yellow maples of the outbuilding,

As if in gilded frames.

Where are the trees in September

At dawn they stand in pairs

And the sunset on their crust

Leaves a trace of amber.

Where you can't step into the ravine

So that it does not become known to everyone:

So raging that not a step,

There is a woody leaf underfoot.

Where it sounds at the end of the alleys

Echo at the steep descent

And dawn the cherry glue

Freezes in the form of a clot.

Autumn. Ancient corner

Old books, clothes, weapons,

Where is the treasure catalog

Leafs through the cold.

Is in the autumn of the initial

A short but wondrous time -

The whole day is like crystal,

And the evenings are radiant ...

The air is empty, you can't hear the birds anymore,

But far from the first winter storms

And clear and warm azure pours

To the resting field ...

F.I. Tyutchev

Sleep, Margarita, sleep, autumn has already come,

Sleep, daisies color, cool and white ...

You, like me, are an autumn luminary.

I have nothing

Except for three golden leaves and a staff

Ash,

Yes, a little earth on the soles of your feet

Yes a little wind in my hair

Yes, the glare of the sea in the pupils ...

Because I've been walking the roads

Forest and coastal

And cut an ash branch

And took in passing from the sleeping autumn

Three gold leaves.

(de Rainier)