Poems about winter by Russian poets *** Snow and snow patterns, There is a blizzard in the field, conversations, It’s already dark at five o’clock. Day - skates, snowballs, sleds, Evening - old wives' tales, - Here it is - winter!.. A. Fet *** Snow everywhere; everything is quiet all around; Nature sleeps in winter's sleep, And through the clouds - gray and gloomy - The sun looks dimly. Above my window there is a rustic Birds nest - but it reminded me of spring, flowers and the sun!.. I. Belousov *** The first snow The winter cold smelled on the fields and forests. The skies lit up with bright purple before sunset. At night the storm raged, And with dawn the first snow fell on the village, on the ponds, on the deserted garden. And today, over the wide White tablecloth of the fields, We said goodbye to the belated Swirl of geese. I. Bunin *** The creaking of steps along the white streets... The creaking of steps along the white streets, Lights in the distance; Crystals sparkle on the frozen walls. Silver fluff hung from the eyelashes into the eyes, Silence cold night Occupies the spirit. The wind sleeps and everything grows numb, just to fall asleep; The clear air itself is timid to breathe in the frost. A. Fet *** Bewitched by the Enchantress of Winter, the forest stands, And under the snowy fringe, motionless, silent, it glitters with a wonderful life. And he stands, bewitched, - Neither dead nor alive - Enchanted by a magical dream, All entangled, all shackled with a light downy chain... Does the winter sun place its scythe ray on him - Nothing in him will tremble, He will all flare up and sparkle with a dazzling beauty. F. Tyutchev *** Mom! Look from the window - You know, yesterday it was not for nothing that the cat washed her nose: There is no dirt, the whole yard is covered, It has brightened, it has turned white - Apparently, there is frost. Not prickly, light blue Frost is hung on the branches - Just look! As if someone had tampered with fresh, white, plump cotton wool, he removed everything from the bushes. Now there will be no argument: It’s fun to run on the sled, and it’s fun to run up the hill! Really, mom? You won’t refuse, But you yourself will probably say: “Well, hurry up for a walk!” A. Fet *** A wonderful picture, How dear you are to me: White plain, Full moon, Light of high skies, And shiny snow, And distant sleighs Lonely running . A.A. Fet *** Chrysanthemums On the window, silver from frost, Chrysanthemums bloomed overnight. In the upper windows - the sky is bright blue And stuck in the snow dust. The sun rises, vigorous from the cold, The window glows golden. The morning is quiet, joyful and young, Everything is covered in white snow. I.A. Bunin *** Winter is angry for a reason, Its time has passed - Spring is knocking on the window And driving it out of the yard. And everything began to fuss, Everything bores the winter out - And the larks in the sky Already started ringing the bell. Winter is still busy and grumbling about Spring. She laughs in her eyes And only makes more noise... The evil witch went mad And, grabbing the snow, She let it run away into a beautiful child... Spring and grief are not enough: She washed herself in the snow And only became blush In defiance of the enemy. F.I. Tyutchev *** Winter (excerpt) White, fluffy snow swirls in the air And quietly falls to the ground, lies down. And in the morning the Field turned white with snow, as if it were covered with a shroud. The dark forest covered itself with a wonderful hat and fell asleep under it, soundly, soundly... God's days are short, the sun shines little, now the frosts have come - 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 to land. She left the wonderful azure. She cast herself into an unknown Country. Skillfully glides in the shining rays, preserved white among the melting flakes. Under the blowing wind it trembles, flutters, on it, cherishing, it sways lightly. She is comforted by his swing. With its blizzards Spinning madly. The long road does not end, the Crystal Star touches the Earth. A brave, fluffy Snowflake lies. How pure, How brave! K.D. Balmont *** Winter morning Frost and sun, a wonderful day! You are still dozing, lovely friend, - It’s time, beauty, wake up: Open your eyes, closed with bliss, Towards the northern Aurora, Appear as the Star of the North! In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry, there was darkness in the cloudy sky; The moon, like a pale spot, turned yellow through the gloomy clouds, And you sat sad - And now... look out the window: Under the blue skies Magnificent carpets, Glistening in the sun, the snow lies; The transparent forest alone turns black, And the spruce turns green through the frost, And the river glitters under the ice. The whole room is illuminated with an amber shine. The flooded stove crackles with a cheerful sound. It's nice to think by the bed. But you know: shouldn’t we tell the brown filly to be banned from the sled? Sliding through the morning snow, dear friend, let us indulge in the running of the impatient horse and visit the empty fields, the forests that were recently so dense, and the shore that is dear to me. A. S. Pushkin *** Eugene Onegin (excerpt) Here the wind, driving up the clouds, breathed, howled - and here comes the sorceress winter herself. She came and fell apart; Hanged in clumps on the branches of oak trees; Lay down in wavy carpets Among the fields, around the hills; The river bank with the motionless river was leveled with a plump veil; Frost flashed. And we are glad for the pranks of Mother Winter... ....................................... Tidy fashionable parquet The river shines, dressed in ice. The joyful people of the boys cut the ice sonorously with their skates; A heavy goose on red paws, Having decided to swim along the bosom of the waters, Steps carefully onto the ice, Slides and falls; cheerful The first snow flashes and curls, falling like stars onto the shore. A.S. Pushkin *** Blizzard At night in the fields, to the tunes of a blizzard, Birch and spruce trees are dozing, swaying... The moon shines between the clouds over the field - A pale shadow runs over 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 blizzard, the creaking of a cradle can be heard quietly... For months, the light in the darkness is silvering - flowing into the frozen glass of the shops. I imagine at night: between the branches of the birches Frost looks into the silent huts. Dead field, steppe road! The night blizzard sweeps you away, Your villages sleep to the songs of the blizzard, Lonely spruce trees doze in the snow... I imagine at night: don’t steppe all around - Frost wanders in the deaf graveyard... Ivan Bunin *** Winter road Through the wavy fogs The moon makes its way, On sad glades She sheds a sad light. Along the winter, boring road, a troika of greyhounds runs, a monotonous bell rattles tiresomely. Something familiar is heard in the long songs of the coachman: That daring revelry, That heartfelt melancholy... No fire, no black hut, Wilderness and snow. .. Towards me Only striped miles Come across one... Boring, sad... Tomorrow, Nina, Tomorrow returning to my dear one, I will forget myself by the fireplace, I’ll take a look without looking at it enough. The hour hand will make its measured circle with a resounding sound, And, removing the annoying ones, Midnight will not separate us. It’s sad, Nina: my path is boring, my driver has fallen silent from his doze, the bell is monotonous, the moon’s face is foggy. A. S. Pushkin *** Winter evening A storm covers the sky with darkness, Whirling snow whirlwinds; Then she will howl like a beast, then she will cry like a child; Then suddenly there will be a rustle of straw on the dilapidated roof; The way a belated traveler knocks on our window. Our dilapidated shack is both sad and dark. Why are you, my old lady, silent at the window? Or are you, my friend, tired of the howling of the storm, or are you dozing under the buzz of Your spindle? Let's drink, good friend of my poor youth, Let's drink out of grief; where is the mug? The heart will be more cheerful. Sing me a song about how the tit lived quietly across the sea; Sing me a song like the girl went for water in the morning. The storm covers the sky with darkness, spinning snow whirlwinds; Then 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 out of grief; where is the mug? The heart will be more cheerful. A. S. Pushkin *** Snow flies and sparkles in the golden radiance of the day. As if it were covering all the valleys and fields with down... The little river was covered with ice And fell asleep for the time being, With ringing laughter the children are already rolling down the mountain; And the peasant renews the road to the forest with wood; Snow flies and sparkles, Quietly falling from the sky. Spiridon Drozhzhin *** Winter Where the river played with gold, Conversing with the reeds, Now crystal ice lies there, Sparkling with pure silver. Where the rye, like the sea, was worried, Where the lush meadows bloomed, Now there the blizzard and blizzard are walking menacingly and angrily. Philip Shkulev *** Winter sings and echoes... Winter sings and echoes, The shaggy forest lulls the pine forest with a hundred ringing sounds. All around, with deep melancholy, Gray clouds float to a distant land. And a snowstorm spreads across the yard like a silk carpet, but it is painfully cold. Playful sparrows, like lonely children, huddled near the window. The little birds are cold, hungry, tired, and huddle closer together. And the blizzard, with a furious roar, knocks on the hanging shutters and gets angrier and angrier. And the tender birds doze under these snowy whirlwinds at the frozen window. And they dream of a beautiful, clear, beautiful spring in the smiles of the sun. S. Yesenin *** Eugene Onegin (excerpt) Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant, Renews the path on the logs; His horse, sensing the snow, trudges along at a trot; Exploding the fluffy reins, the daring carriage flies; The coachman sits on the beam wearing a sheepskin coat and a red sash. Here is a yard boy running, having planted a bug in a sled, transforming himself into a horse; The naughty man has already frozen his finger: He is both hurt and 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, like a snowy border, brushes blossomed like a white fringe. And the birch tree stands in sleepy silence, And the snowflakes burn in golden fire. And the dawn, lazily going around, sprinkles the branches with new silver. S. Yesenin *** Powder I'm going. Quiet. Ringing can be heard under hoofs in the snow, only gray crows make noise in the meadow. Bewitched by the invisible, The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep, Like a white scarf tied to a pine tree. She bent down like an old woman, leaned on a stick, and right under the top of her head a woodpecker was hammering on a branch. The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space, the snow is falling and the shawl is spreading. The endless road runs away like a ribbon into the distance. S. Yesenin *** Meeting winter (excerpt) Yesterday morning the rain was knocking on the glass windows; Above the ground the fog rose like clouds. The cold blew into my face from the gloomy skies, and God knows what, the gloomy forest cried. At noon the rain stopped, and like a white fluff, snow began to fall on the autumn mud. The night has passed. It's dawn. There is no cloud anywhere. The air is light and clean, And the river is frozen. In the yards and houses the snow lies like a sheet and from the sun it shines with multi-colored fire. The forest looks cheerfully at the deserted expanse of whitened fields From under the black curls - As if he is happy about something. And on the branches of birches, like diamonds, drops of restrained tears burn. Hello, winter guest! We ask you to be kind to us to sing songs of the north through the forests and steppes. We have freedom - Walk anywhere; Build bridges over rivers and spread carpets. We will never get used to it, Let your frost crackle: Our Russian blood burns in the frost... Ivan Nikitin *** Frost, Red Nose (excerpt) It is not the wind that rages over the forest, It is not the streams that run from the mountains, Frost the voivode patrols his possessions , He looks to see if the snowstorms have covered the forest paths well, And are there any cracks, crevices, And is there any bare ground? Are the tops of the pines fluffy, Are the patterns on the oaks beautiful? And are the ice floes firmly bound in the great and small waters? He walks, walks through the trees, crackles on frozen water, and bright sun plays in his shaggy beard... Climbing onto a large pine tree, he hits the branches with a club, and to himself, daringly, he sings a boastful song: “Blizzards, snows and fogs are always submissive to frost, I will go to the seas and oceans - I will build palaces of ice. Intended - I will hide large rivers under oppression for a long time, I will build ice bridges, which the people will not build. Where fast, noisy waters Recently flowed freely - Today pedestrians passed, Carts with goods passed... Rich, I don’t count the treasury, And everything is not scarce of good; I am a kingdom I put mine away In almaly, pearls, silver..." N. Nekrasov *** Just yesterday, melting in the sun, The forest was the last to tremble with leaves, And the winter, lushly green, lay like a velvet carpet. Looking arrogantly, as before, at the victims of cold and sleep, the Invincible Pine did not change itself in anything. Today summer suddenly disappeared; All around is white, lifeless, the Earth and the sky - everything is dressed in some kind of dull silver. Fields without herds, forests dull, Neither scanty leaves nor grass. I don’t recognize the growing power In the diamond ghosts of foliage. As if in a gray puff of smoke From the kingdom of cereals, by the will of fairies We were incomprehensibly transported to the kingdom of rock crystals. A. Fet *** Childhood (excerpt) Here is my village; This is my home; Here I am sledding along a steep mountain; Here the sled rolls up, and I’m on my side - clap! I'm rolling head over heels downhill into a snowdrift. And my boy friends, standing above me, laugh merrily at my misfortune. My whole face and hands are covered with snow... I'm in grief in the snowdrift, but the guys are laughing! I. Surikov *** Dilapidated hut Dilapidated hut All standing in the snow. An old grandmother looks out of the window. Snow for the naughty grandchildren knee-deep. It's fun for the kids to run on fast sleds... They run, laugh, sculpt a snow house, Voices ring out loudly all around... There will be a frolicking game in the snow house... Your fingers will get cold, - It's time to go home! Tomorrow they will drink tea, Look out of the window - And the house has already melted, It’s spring outside!
Snowflake
Light fluffy,
Snowflake white,
How clean
How brave!
Dear stormy
Easy to carry
Not to the azure heights,
Begs to go to earth.
Wonderful azure
She left
Myself into the unknown
The country has been overthrown.
In the shining rays
Slides skillfully
Among the melting flakes
Preserved white.
Under the blowing wind
Shakes, flutters,
On him, cherishing,
Lightly swinging.
His swing
She's consoled
With his snowstorms
Spinning wildly.
But here it ends
The road is long,
Touches the earth
Crystal star.
Fluffy lies
Snowflake is brave.
How clean
How white!
Konstantin Balmont
Winter sings and echoes
Winter sings and echoes,
The shaggy forest lulls
The ringing sound of a pine forest.
All around with deep melancholy
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And there's a snowstorm in the yard
Spreads a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful,
Like lonely children,
Huddled by the window.
The little birds are cold
Hungry, tired,
And they huddle tighter.
And the blizzard roars madly
Knocks on the hanging shutters
And he gets angrier.
And the tender birds are dozing
Under these snowy whirlwinds
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Beautiful spring.
The snow jam is spinning briskly...
The snowy jam is spinning briskly,
An alien troika is rushing across the field.
The youth is racing in a troika.
Where is my happiness? Where is my joy?
Everything rolled away under a brisk whirlwind
Here on the same crazy three.
Enchantress in Winter
Enchantress in Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands,
And under the snow fringe,
motionless, mute,
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive -
Enchanted by a magical dream,
All entangled, all shackled
Light down chain...
Is the winter sun shining?
On him your ray with a scythe -
Nothing will tremble in him,
It will all flare up and sparkle
Dazzling beauty.
Autumn has already flown away,
And winter came.
As if on wings, she flew
Suddenly she is invisible.
Now the frosts are crackling
And all the ponds were shackled.
And the boys screamed
Thanks to her for her efforts.
Here are the patterns
On glasses of wondrous beauty.
Everyone turned their gaze
Looking at this. From high
Snow falls, flashes, curls,
It falls like a great veil.
Here the sun is blinking in the clouds,
And the frost sparkles on the snow.
Fantasy
Like living statues, in the sparkles of the moonlight,
The outlines of pines, spruces and birches tremble slightly;
The prophetic forest calmly slumbers, the bright shine of the Moon accepts
And he listens to the murmur of the wind, all filled with secret dreams.
Hearing the quiet groan of a blizzard, pine trees whisper, spruce trees whisper,
It is pleasant for them to rest in a soft velvet bed,
Without remembering anything, without cursing anything,
Slender branches bend, listen to the sounds of midnight.
Someone's sighs, someone's singing, someone's mournful prayer,
And melancholy and rapture, like a star sparkling,
It’s like light rain flowing, and the trees seem to think about something,
Something that people will never dream of, no one ever.
These are the spirits of the night rushing, these are their eyes sparkling,
At the hour of deep midnight, spirits rush through the forest.
What torments them, what worries them? What, like a worm, is secretly eating them?
Why can’t their swarm sing the joyful hymn of Heaven?
Their singing sounds more and more loudly, the languor in it is heard more and more,
Tireless striving, unchanging sadness,—
It’s as if they are tormented by anxiety, thirst for faith, thirst for God,
It’s as if they have so much torment, as if they feel sorry for something.
And the Moon still shines, and without pain, without suffering,
The outlines of prophetic fairy-tale trunks tremble slightly;
They are all dozing so sweetly, listening indifferently to moans,
And they calmly accept the chats of clear, bright dreams.
Winter road
Through the wavy mists
The moon creeps in
To the sad meadows
She sheds a sad light.
On the winter, boring road
Three greyhounds are running,
Single bell
It rattles tiresomely.
Something sounds familiar
In the coachman's long songs:
That reckless revelry
That heartbreak......
No fire, no black house,
Wilderness and snow.... To meet me
Only miles are striped
They come across one...
Bored, sad..... tomorrow, Nina,
Returning to my dear tomorrow,
I'll forget myself by the fireplace,
I'll take a look without looking at it.
The hour hand sounds loud
He will make his measuring circle,
And, removing the annoying ones,
Midnight will not separate us.
It’s sad, Nina: my path is boring,
My driver fell silent from his doze,
The bell is monotonous,
The moon's face is clouded.
The creaking of footsteps along the white streets...
The creaking of footsteps along the white streets,
Lights in the distance;
On the frozen walls
The crystals sparkle.
From the eyelashes hung into the eyes
Silver fluff,
The silence of a cold night
Occupies the spirit.
The wind sleeps and everything goes numb,
Just to fall asleep;
The clear air itself becomes timid
To die in the cold.
December morning
There is a month in the sky - and night
The shadow has not yet moved,
Reigns over himself without realizing it,
That the day has already started up, -
Which is at least lazy and timid
Beam appears after ray,
And the sky is still completely
At night it shines with triumph.
But two or three moments will not pass,
The night will evaporate over the earth,
And in the full splendor of manifestations
Suddenly the world of daytime will embrace us...
White birch
Below my window
Covered with snow
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
Snow border
The brushes have blossomed
White fringe.
And the birch tree stands
In sleepy silence,
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire.
And the dawn is lazy
Walking around
Sprinkles branches
New silver.
Winter morning
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!
In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now..... look out the window:
Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.
The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.
But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?
Sliding on the morning snow,
Dear friend, let's indulge in running
impatient horse
And we'll visit the empty fields,
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.
I'm wandering through the first snow
I'm walking through the first snow.
In the heart are lilies of the valley of flaring forces.
Evening star with a blue candle
It shone over my road.
I don't know - is it light or darkness?
Is the wind or a rooster crowing in the thicket?
Maybe instead of winter in the fields,
These swans sat down in the meadow.
You are beautiful, oh white surface!
A slight frost warms my blood.
I just want to press you to my body
Bare breasts of birches.
O forest, dense dregs!
Oh the joy of snow-covered fields!
I just want to close my hands
Above the tree hips of the willows
Poetry 12/11/2016
Dear readers, today I invite you to a winter fairy tale. Let's fill ourselves with the spirit along with the poets who sang winter in poetry. Poetry is always a reflection of our soul.
Winter in Rus' is a special time of year. Summer is everywhere, you won’t be surprised by it, although both it and the spring-autumn periods have their differences everywhere. But it is the Russian winter that, like no other weather season, shows the power of the country, the people, and highlights the hidden shades of our existence. Today, together with you, I will again look through the pages of poetry collections from different years. Poems about winter will be the topic of this review.
Does love have a short life in winter?
I suggest starting this review with a musical “intro”. There are a great many songs, romances, opera arias glorifying our winter. Each of you has your favorite tunes, cherished poetic lines from a series of poems about winter, framed by music.
Here I will recall only two song plots that embody completely differently eternal theme love. This is “Winter Love” by Arno Babajanyan with lyrics by Robert Rozhdestvensky and “Winter Night” with lyrics by Boris Pasternak, from the New Year’s film hit “The Irony of Fate”. They are united by a deeply lyrical approach and that quiet sadness that is often brought to us all on long winter evenings.
Winter love
It's too cold outside
In vain love came in December.
Snow falls quietly to the ground.
Snow - on the streets, snow - in the forests
And in your words. And in the eyes.
Love has a short life in winter.
Snow falls quietly to the ground.
Here you are saying goodbye to me,
I hear an icy voice.
Love has a short life in winter.
Snow falls quietly to the ground.
Winter vows are cold,
I will wait a long time for spring...
Love has a short life in winter.
Snow falls quietly to the ground.
Love has a short life in winter.
Snow falls quietly to the ground.
Winter night
Chalk, chalk all over the earth
To all limits.
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.
Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flies into the flames
Flakes flew from the yard
To the window frame.
A snowstorm sculpted on the glass
Circles and arrows.
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.
On the illuminated ceiling
The shadows were falling
Crossing of arms, crossing of legs,
Crossing fates.
And two shoes fell
With a knock on the floor,
And wax with tears from the night light
It was dripping on my dress.
And everything was lost in snowy haze,
Gray and white.
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.
There was a blow on the candle from the corner,
And the heat of temptation
Raised two wings like an angel
Crosswise.
It was snowy all month in February,
Every now and then
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.
Boris Pasternak.
This heartfelt song based on classic poems about winter is performed by Alla Pugacheva in the film. From her, director Eldar Ryazanov sought an intimate sound. And now I propose to listen to the same “Winter Night” in the original powerful performance by Nikolai Noskov. Everything is brilliant: poetry, music, performance.
Red bullfinches on white birches
The classics of the Russian poetic genre did not ignore the splendor of winter beauties. Here, speaking about poems about winter by Russian poets, I will not distinguish between pre-revolutionary and Soviet period: It is not difficult to see that they admired the nature of their native land with equal enthusiasm.
It is difficult to convey in words the subtle ligature of frosty patterns on glass, the softness of a blanket of snow on sleeping tree branches, the melodiousness of the creaking of runners or the mystery of the rustle of falling snowflakes. But they tried, and, the most amazing thing, they succeeded, and everyone did it in their own way, but with equal talent, precision and subtlety.
Birch
White birch tree under my window
She covered herself with snow, like silver.
On fluffy branches with a snow border
The tassels bloomed with white fringe.
And the birch tree stands in sleepy silence,
And snowflakes burn in golden fire.
And the dawn, lazily walking around,
Sprinkles the branches with new silver.
Sergey Yesenin.
Bullfinches
Run out quickly
Look at bullfinches.
They arrived, they arrived,
The flock was greeted by snowstorms!
And Frost is the Red Nose
He brought them rowan trees.
Well treated
Sweetened well.
Late winter evening
Bright scarlet clusters.
Alexander Prokofiev.
Where is the sweet whisper
My forests?
Streams of murmurs,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Winter carpet
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With its bark
The stream grows numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.
Evgeny Baratynsky.
I want the first, tender snowflakes
It is not for nothing that rhymes or consonances of the concepts “snowy” and “tender” are so often found in poems about winter by Russian poets. This is not plagiarism, but a certain intuitive feeling of the relatedness of concepts, which comes to everyone in their own way. Snow, especially the first one, covering the blackness of the earth, the flaws of our roads, giving a feeling of unearthly, transcendental peace. It is truly mesmerizing; you can watch the falling snowflakes without looking away, forgetting about the bustle around you. And what harmony there is in them, what perfection of form!
Snowflake
Light fluffy,
Snowflake white,
How clean
How brave!
Dear stormy
Easy to carry
Not to the azure heights,
Begs to go to earth.
Wonderful azure
She left
Myself into the unknown
The country has been overthrown.
In the shining rays
Slides skillfully
Among the melting flakes
Preserved white.
Under the blowing wind
Shakes, flutters,
On him, cherishing,
Lightly swinging.
His swing
She's consoled
With his snowstorms
Spinning wildly.
But here it ends
The road is long,
Touches the earth
Crystal star.
Fluffy lies
Snowflake is brave.
How clean
How white!
Konstantin Balmont.
God, I really wanted snow...
Flakes flying from the sky
So that the earth dresses as a bride
And the fog over the city disappeared...
I want the first, tender snowflakes,
So that people, having forgotten things -
They looked up at the snowy gift.
So that they say out loud: “Winter has come!”
I want to hear the laughter of children,
Touching the snow with admiration...
Evenings in winter are kinder and quieter,
And the veil of frozen rivers shines...
I want winter, so that in this world
Everything became at least a little whiter.
Let the snowflakes fly around the world,
Bringing joy to people's hearts...
God, I really wanted snow...
Flakes flying from the sky
So that the human soul warms itself in winter
Expecting happiness and miracles...
Irina Samarina.
First snow
It smelled like winter cold
To the fields and forests.
Light up bright purple
Before sunset the sky.
At night the storm raged,
And with dawn to the village,
To the ponds, to the deserted garden
The first snow started to fall.
And today over the wide
White tablecloth fields
We said goodbye belatedly
A string of geese.
Ivan Bunin.
But it just snowed...
And the gloomy day seemed to become brighter.
And as if in a dream
I'm walking along a snowy alley.
And in the world - witchcraft!
Passers-by are fascinated by the snow...
Snowflakes celebration
Tenderness sprinkles drop by drop...
And in a white mess
Winter spins me around in a magical waltz...
Trees in silver
They bowed in astonished curtsy.
And as if on Earth
There is no other color left:
White makes it warmer...
And the black...... seemed to appear.....
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: “A storm covers the sky with darkness...” Or the no less popular one, sitting “at the bottom”: “Frost and sun; wonderful day!” This is probably the merit of the school - it is firmly ingrained in my memory. But Pushkin also has much lesser-known lines that are just as expressive, for example, these poems about winter, short and beautiful.
What a night! Frost is bitter,
There is not a single cloud in the sky;
Like an embroidered canopy, a blue vault
Replete with frequent stars.
Everything in the houses is dark. At the gate
Locks with heavy locks.
People are buried everywhere;
Both the noise and the shout of the trade died down;
As soon as the yard guard barks
Yes, the chain rattles loudly.
And all of Moscow is sleeping peacefully...
Equally one-sided, or rather, we simply know little about the poetry of Nikolai Rubtsov. Of course, his mystical prediction: “I will die in the Epiphany frosts, I will die when the birch trees crack…” could not help but remain in the memory of people and in the history of literature. Moreover, it came true with perfect accuracy. But Rubtsov also has such heartfelt poems about winter, filled with a feeling of light, light. They are like the musical subtext of the running of a graceful, swift troika:
Oh, who doesn't love the first snow?
Slightly humming in the wind!
Dozhinki are celebrated in the village,
And snowflakes fly towards the accordion.
And all in glowing snow,
Moose freezes while running
On a distant shore.
Why are you holding a whip in your palm?
Horses gallop easily in harness,
And along the roads between the fields,
Like flocks white doves,
Snow flies up from under the sleigh...
Oh, who doesn't love the first snow?
In the frozen beds of quiet rivers,
In the fields, in villages and in the forest,
Slightly humming in the wind!
But it is no coincidence that the names of Tyutchev, Fet, Bunin are strongly and absolutely correctly associated with true soulful lyricism. These are masters of words, true experts in Russian literature, which is why they were so brilliant at writing poems about winter and any other seasons. They truly loved these wide open spaces and always, in any circumstances, remained singers of their native nature.
Enchantress in Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands,
And under the snow fringe,
motionless, mute,
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive -
Enchanted by a magical dream,
All entangled, all shackled
Light down chain…
Is the winter sun shining?
On him your ray with a scythe -
Nothing will tremble in him,
It will all flare up and sparkle
Dazzling beauty.
Fedor Tyutchev.
Wonderful picture
How dear you are to me:
White plain,
Full moon,
The light of the high heavens,
And shining snow
And distant sleighs
Lonely running.
The creaking of footsteps along the white streets, lights in the distance;
Crystals glitter on the frozen walls.
Silver fluff hung from the eyelashes into the eyes,
The silence of the cold night occupies the spirit.
The wind sleeps, and everything grows numb, just to fall asleep;
The clear air itself is timid to breathe in the cold.
Afanasy Fet.
This is what dreams smell like on New Year's Eve...
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 briefly fall back into childhood; we really want to believe in miracles. This means that with this faith we bring the miracle a little closer. These days we invariably become kinder, become more humane. Yes, it’s 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 all year long.
What bliss that the snow shines,
that the cold got stronger, and it was drizzling in the morning,
that the foil sparkles wildly and tenderly
on every corner and in the store window.
While serpentine, tinsel, gimmick
rise above the boredom of other possessions,
the languor of the New Year's weeks
to endure and endure - what a wondrous fate!
What luck that the shadows have fallen
surrounded by fir trees and fir trees blooming everywhere,
and evergreen news of love
the soul is inspired and added to the miracle.
Where did tenderness and spruce come from,
where they hid before and how they conspired!
Like children who wait at the cherished doors,
I forgot to wait, and the doors opened.
What a bliss it is that you have to decide,
where the glass ball will heat up more beautifully,
and only love, only decorate the spruce
and contemplate this untold world...
Bella Akhmadulina.
Frosty tangerine peel,
A resinous pine twig,
Frozen raspberry
This is what dreams smell like on New Year's Eve.
That's what dreams smell like when they're on Christmas trees
The garlands have not yet been lit.
This is what dreams smell like when in the evening
There are untouched candles...
Tatiana Snezhina.
According to the New Year's law...
Let's go according to the New Year's law -
Let's leave everything unnecessary behind:
Unpleasant phone calls
Last weekend alone...
Unexpected troubles and losses,
All the diseases that came on the sly...
And we will open the doors on New Year’s Day with a smile.
Light in the soul from the New Year's snow...
We will take with us a package of brilliant ideas,
A bag of joy, bags of kindness.
And friends - so dear and real...
Let's not forget to take your dreams.
Let's break into the New Year with white stripe,
Covering the negative with pure snow,
To appreciate people with spiritual beauty…
Yard inner world so beautiful.
We will forget New Year's recipes.
The festive outfit will also be forgotten...
Only with sincerity will you make a contribution -
In the New Year, where we make plans at random...
And on the Christmas tree the garland blinks like that,
Like the hope that burns in the hearts of people.
Let’s believe that it doesn’t happen...
And a 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 beginning to slowly prepare for the New Year's celebrations. And when the fireworks die down, the champagne is drunk, and 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 flip through the calendar, counting the days until the first days of spring, wondering whether the arrival of the drops will be quick or delayed.
These poems about winter are completely different in plot, mood, and subtext. Because you and I are also individuals, we see the world a little differently, and this only adds to its charm.
Winter without a mask and without makeup
White - white, weak, uncoordinated,
But the hidden one is also visible,
But even the silent one is heard.
She herself is full of forebodings,
Appropriate only in youth,
She herself needs art,
In its disturbing, wild strangeness.
It's all about him! All surroundings
Requires brushes, strings, and rhythm.
Everything stirs up the imagination,
He hurries, wanders, raves, tries...
And we, the crowded ones right,
We re-evaluate the matter -
The eve of winter, the threshold of the cold,
The height of seasonal art.
Pavel Antokolsky.
Winter
White snow, fluffy swirling in the air
And he quietly falls to the ground and lies down.
And in the morning the field turned white with snow,
It was as if everything had covered him with a shroud.
The dark forest covered itself with a wonderful cap
And he fell asleep under her soundly, soundly...
God's days are short, the sun shines little,
Now the frosts have arrived - and winter has come.
The toiling peasant pulled out his sleigh,
Children are building snow mountains.
The peasant has been waiting for winter and cold for a long time,
And he covered the outside of the hut with straw.
So that the wind does not penetrate into the hut through the cracks,
Blizzards and blizzards would not blow snow.
He is now calm - everything is covered,
And he is not afraid of the angry frost.
Ivan Surikov.
All day long flakes of wet snow fly...
And what do they want from us in this crazy world?
And what do we ourselves want from the world?
And where are we flying through the thick flakes?
Where are they waiting for us and where are they waving at us?
Snow flakes fly over the path, over the river.
Where is the limit? Where is the peace, quiet and comfort?
Flakes of wet snow scurry and scurry.
Larisa Miller.
Will there be spring?...
Spun, spun
Blizzard winter dial.
Performed by bagatelles
We are on an ice pipe.
The pines and spruce trees showed off,
We put on ball gowns.
The waxwings fell silent...
In a snow-white cradle
The river is sleeping. Only in the font
At Epiphany there are “carousels”...
It's blowing again... Barely
I believe in the arrival of a drop...
Lyubov Mironova.
Music of winter
Winter music snowflake flute
watercolor silver rings
And lie sad in the snowdrift of bed,
playing with the wind, not in a hurry.
Wait for another's expectations in vain,
in the royal sparks the bell is dashing.
I'm going to be a daring group of three
blank verse will fly to the edge.
Through the forest limit and into the fresh frost
accidentally shakes the twig.
Smiling, the guest’s fur will quiver,
Gray wolf sings happy.
Winter music snowflake flute
watercolor silver rings.
The royal down in the forest turns white,
He orders the saints to write with a sail.
Evgeny Borisovsky.
Nature has become generous again,
Mother Nature herself:
What nice weather
What a snowy winter.
Felt boots and skis are ready,
Matches and food in your pocket
Not for reserve - but to survive
When trouble strikes.
I'm in a hurry. Satisfied with the ski lubricant,
Snowy path
Where it feels like a winter fairy tale.
And I say hello to the fairy tale.
Lights of a distant village
They are still burning, but the light is dawning,
Just a little more, just a moment more -
And dawn breaks.
A tit was shading in the forest,
Magpie, with the message light,
Crackled in bulk to the fox,
But she was already far away.
There for high mountains,
Where the distance is transparent and echoing,
Winter with the humming winds,
The frosty ringing of a pine forest.
Naked on the rift,
Already pretty shallow,
The restless stream gurgles,
Leading the silver tune.
And the promised side
I wander under the vault of gray skies,
Where is the woodpecker drumming
The forest awakens the numb.
Do not take in an inquisitive glance
The expanse of snow-covered 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 it flows, playing with sounds,
Live winter music...
Victor Kukhtin.
An invitation to a winter fairy tale...
Like in a ghostly white, captivating dream
The moon shines silver in the heights of the night,
And white, white birch trees sleep,
Wrapped in snow, immersed in dreams.
And an unearthly silence surrounds me,
Does this really happen?
And the snow shines silver under the moonbeam -
What will happen, what happened - I don’t 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 the horn will dispel wonderful dreams.
The wind will touch them with a swift run,
And wonderful castles will be covered with snow.
And I hid, almost not breathing -
Oh, winter's tale how good you are!
Anatoly Tsepin.
Flowers under the snow
The flowers in the garden have not yet bloomed,
And time flies white snowstorms,
Bright dreams disappear under the snow,
Nature goes to bed until April...
...It seems that this is how nature intended it,
Flowers also need to rest,
Flowers under the snow will last a while,
Spring will come and they will bloom again.
Nadezhda Lykova.
Footprints
I love,
when over the city -
snow,
circling uncertainly
nobody's
Inanimate,
shaggy,
slow snow
dresses in ermine
Muscovites.
In an ermine coat
a student is coming.
In ermine
the guard is dressed up...
I love looking at the white ripples.
Lanterns float above the street -
are burning.
Like filled with flames
zeros,
at home
the lights are on.
Plump It is snowing,
and I run after him.
The snow got entangled in a tangle of bushes.
On snow,
on very quiet
snow -
exclamation marks
traces!
Robert Rozhdestvensky.
And here is another touching poem about winter.
Your name on the white snow...
Your name on the white snow -
reflection of crystal happiness...
The flight of weightless snowflakes is like the feathers of an angel’s wing...
In every letter of the sun there are rays... of the vast sky, communion...
And the magical fairy tale winter is infinitely pure and bright...
Your name on the white snow -
the whisper of birds in the shimmer 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 tear trembling slightly with happiness... my belated song...
Your name on the white snow -
like a postscript to unfulfilled letters...
Like hope for a fairytale light... like heaven's golden dawn...
Sparkles of stars scatter like pearl-silver beads...
And the gift of the gods sparkles - your name - 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 introduce you to one small thing, short poem about winter from Anna Voronina. She wrote this poem inspired by 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 piquant hint of tangerine.
Cotton candy outfit
Painted the sunset in mother-of-pearl.
Weave star cape
She covered her shoulders. The candles are dancing
Letting the shadows go free,
Nature's brow decorating.
Longer than the stage time,
And there is a place for idle laziness,
Remaining in sleepy bliss.
Anna Voronina.
Dear readers, our new winter issue of the Scents 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 poems about winter for this article. Together we have collected something that is very precious, although, of course, there are very, very many such poems.
Dear readers, New Year is just around the corner, and winter will delight us for a long time with the silver shine of ice floes, the uniqueness of “Lego” snowflakes, and the serenades of blizzards. And new poems, songs, everything that warms the soul even in the coldest frosts.
From me I wish you a New Year's mood. Surgery to replace the lens of the eye for cataracts
Aksakov S.T.
In 1813, from Nikolin's day (Nikolin's day - religious holiday, coped on December 6 under Art. style) bitter December frosts set in, especially at the winter turns, when, according to popular expression, the sun turned to summer and winter turned to frost. The cold grew every day, and on December 29, the mercury froze and sank into a glass ball.
The bird froze in flight and fell to the ground already numb. The water thrown up from the glass returned in icy splashes and icicles, and there was very little snow, only an inch, and the uncovered ground was frozen to three-quarters of an arshin.
When digging up pillars to build a barn, the peasants said that they would not remember when the ground froze so deeply, and hoped for a rich harvest of winter grain next year.
The air was dry, thin, burning, piercing, and many people were sick from severe colds and inflammations; the sun rose and went down with fiery ears, and the month walked across the sky, accompanied by cruciform rays; the wind dropped completely, and whole heaps of grain remained unwinded, so there was nowhere to go with them.
With difficulty they made holes in the pond with picks and axes; the ice was more than an arshin thick, and when they reached the water, it, compressed by a heavy, icy crust, flowed as if from a fountain, and then only calmed down when it widely flooded the hole, so that to clean it it was necessary to pave the bridge...
...The view of winter nature was magnificent. The frost squeezed the moisture out of the tree branches and trunks, and the bushes and trees, even the reeds and tall grasses, were covered with shiny frost, along which they slid harmlessly Sun rays, showering them only with the cold shine of diamond lights.
The short winter days were red, clear and quiet, like two drops of water one after the other, and somehow the soul became sad and restless, and the people became despondent.
Diseases, calmness, lack of snow, and food shortages for livestock lie ahead. How can you not get discouraged here? Everyone prayed for snow, as in summer for rain, and finally, pigtails began to appear across the sky, the frost began to subside, and the clarity faded blue sky, the western wind blew, and a puffy cloud, imperceptibly approaching, clouded the horizon on all sides.
As if having done its job, the wind died down again, and the blessed snow began to fall directly, slowly, in large clumps to the ground.
The peasants looked joyfully at the fluffy snowflakes fluttering in the air, which, first fluttering and spinning, fell to the ground.
The snow began to fall from early lunch in the village, it fell incessantly, getting thicker and stronger hour by hour.
I have always loved watching the quiet fall or descent of snow. To fully enjoy this picture, I went out into the field, and a wonderful sight presented itself to my eyes: the entire boundless space around me presented the appearance of a snow flow, as if the heavens had opened up, crumbled with snow fluff and filled the entire air with movement and amazing silence.
The long winter twilight was coming; the falling snow began to cover all objects and covered the ground with white darkness...
I returned home, not to a stuffy room, but to the garden, and walked with pleasure along the paths, showered with snow flakes. Lights lit up in the peasant huts, and pale rays lay across the street; objects were mixed up and drowned in the darkened air.
I entered the house, but stood there for a long time at the window, stood until it was no longer possible to distinguish the falling snowflakes...
“What a mess there will be tomorrow! - I thought. “If the snow stops falling by morning, where is Malik (Malik is a hare’s footprint in the snow) - there is a hare...” And hunting concerns and dreams took possession of my imagination. I especially liked to keep an eye on the Rusaks, of which there were many in the mountains and ravines, near the peasants’ grain humens.
I prepared all the hunting supplies and shells in the evening; I ran out several times to see if it was snowing, and, making sure that it was still falling, just as heavily and quietly, covering the ground just as evenly, I went to bed with pleasant hopes.
Length winter night, and especially in the village, where they go to bed early: you’ll lie on your sides, waiting broad daylight. I always woke up two hours before dawn and loved to greet the winter dawn without a candle. That day I woke up even earlier and now went to find out what was happening in the yard.
There was complete silence outside. The air was soft, and, despite the twelve-degree frost, it seemed warm to me. Snow clouds poured out, and only occasionally some belated snowflakes fell on my face.
Life has long awakened in the village; In all the huts, lights shone and the stoves were heated, and on the threshing floors, in the light of flaming straw, they threshed bread. The roar of speeches and the sound of flails from nearby barns reached my ears.
I stared and listened and did not soon return to my warm room. I sat down opposite the window to the east and began to wait for the light; For a long time no change could be noticed. Finally, a special whiteness appeared in the windows, the tiled stove turned white, and a bookcase with books appeared against the wall, which until then could not be distinguished.
In another room, the door to which was open, the stove was already burning. Humming and crackling and flapping the damper, it illuminated the door and half of the room with some kind of cheerful, joyful and hospitable light.
But broad daylight was coming into its own, and the light from the burning stove gradually disappeared. How good, how sweet it was in my soul! Calm, quiet and bright! Some vague, full of bliss, warm dreams filled the soul...
Excerpt from the essay "Buran" 1856
Aksakov S.T.
A snowy white cloud, as huge as the sky, covered the entire horizon and quickly covered the last light of the red, burnt evening dawn with a thick veil. Suddenly night came... the storm came with all its fury, with all its horrors. A desert wind blew up in the open air, blew up the snowy steppes like swan fluff, threw them up to the skies... Everything was covered in white darkness, impenetrable, like the darkness of the darkest autumn night! Everything merged, everything was mixed up: the earth, the air, the sky turned into an abyss of boiling snow dust, which blinded the eyes, took up one’s breath, roared, whistled, howled, moaned, beat, ruffled, spun from all sides, above and below, entwined itself like a snake. , and strangled everything he came across.
The heart of the most timid person sinks, the blood freezes, stops from fear, and not from cold, for the cold during snowstorms is significantly reduced. So terrible is the sight of winter's indignation northern nature. A person loses his memory, presence of mind, goes mad... and this is the reason for the death of many unfortunate victims.
Our convoy trudged for a long time with its twenty-pound carts. The road began to skid and the horses kept slipping. People mostly walked, stuck knee-deep in snow; Finally, everyone was exhausted; many horses stopped. The old man saw this, and although his serko, who had the hardest time of all, because he was the first to lay the trail, still cheerfully pulled out his legs, the old man stopped the convoy. “Friends,” he said, calling all the men to him, “there’s nothing to do. We must surrender to the will of God; I need to spend the night here. Let's put the carts and unharnessed horses together in a circle. We will tie the shafts and lift them up, cover them with felts, sit under them, as if under a hut, and begin to wait for the light of God and good people. Maybe we won’t all freeze!”
The advice was strange and scary; but it was the only remedy to salvation. Unfortunately, there were young and inexperienced people in the convoy. One of them, whose horse was less stable than the others, did not want to listen to the old man. “That’s enough, grandpa! - he said. “You’ve become sore, so should we stop with you?” you have already lived in this world, you don’t care; but we still want to live. It's seven miles to the point, there won't be any more. Let's go, guys! Let grandfather stay with those whose horses have completely grown. Tomorrow, God willing, we’ll be alive, we’ll come back here and dig them up.” In vain did the old man speak, in vain did he prove that Serko was less tired than the others; It was in vain that Petrovich and two other men supported him: the six others on twelve carts set off further.
The storm raged hour by hour. It raged all night and all the next day, so there was no driving. Deep ravines became high mounds... Finally, the excitement of the snowy ocean began to gradually subside, which still continues when the sky already shines with a cloudless blue. Another night passed. The violent wind died down and the snow settled. The steppes presented the appearance of a stormy sea, suddenly frozen over... The sun rolled out into a clear sky; its rays began to play on the wavy snow. The convoys and all sorts of travelers who had waited out the storm set off.
The creaking of footsteps along the white streets,
Lights in the distance;
On the frozen walls
The crystals sparkle.
From the eyelashes hung into the eyes
Silver fluff,
The silence of a cold night
Occupies the spirit.
The wind sleeps and everything goes numb,
Just to fall asleep;
The clear air itself becomes timid
To die in the cold.
Samuel Marshak
All year round. January
Open the calendar -
January begins.
In January, in January
There is a lot of snow in the yard.
Snow - on the roof, on the porch.
The sun is in the blue sky.
The stoves are heated in our house,
Into the sky smoke is coming pillar.
All year round. February
The winds blow in February
The pipes howl loudly.
It curls like a snake on the ground
Light drifting snow.
Above Kremlin wall -
Aircraft flights.
Glory to the dear army
On her birthday!
Blank verses
The snow is spinning
The snow is falling -
Snow! Snow! Snow!
The beast and the bird are glad to see the snow
And, of course, a person!
Happy gray tits:
Birds are freezing in the cold,
Snow fell - frost fell!
The cat washes its nose with snow.
The puppy has a black back
White snowflakes are melting.
The sidewalks are covered in snow,
Everything around is white and white:
Snow-snow-snowfall!
Enough work for shovels,
For shovels and scrapers,
For large trucks.
The snow is spinning
The snow is falling -
Snow! Snow! Snow!
The beast and the bird are glad to see the snow
And, of course, a person!
Only the janitor, only the janitor
He says: - I am this Tuesday
I will never forget!
Snowfall is a disaster for us!
The scraper scrapes all day long,
The broom sweeps all day long.
A hundred sweats left me,
And everything is white again!
Snow! Snow! Snow!
Enchantress in Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands,
And under the snow fringe,
motionless, mute,
He shines with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched,
Not dead and not alive -
Enchanted by a magical dream,
All entangled, all shackled
Light down chain...
Is the winter sun shining?
On him your ray with a scythe -
Nothing will tremble in him,
It will all flare up and sparkle
Dazzling beauty.
Alexander Pushkin
What a night! Frost is bitter,
There is not a single cloud in the sky;
Like an embroidered canopy, a blue vault
Replete with frequent stars.
Everything in the houses is dark. At the gate
Locks with heavy locks.
People are buried everywhere;
Both the noise and the shout of the trade died down;
As soon as the yard guard barks
Yes, the chain rattles loudly.
And all of Moscow is sleeping peacefully...
Alexander Pushkin
Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant,
On the firewood he renews the path;
His horse smells the snow,
Trotting along somehow;
Fluffy reins exploding,
The daring carriage flies;
The coachman sits on the beam
In a sheepskin coat and a red sash.
Here is a yard boy running,
Having planted a bug in the sled,
Transforming himself into a horse;
The naughty man has already frozen his finger:
It's both painful and funny to him,
And his mother threatens him through the window.
Pushkin Alexander
Winter road
Through the wavy mists
The moon creeps in
To the sad meadows
She sheds a sad light.
On the winter, boring road
Three greyhounds are running,
Single bell
It rattles tiresomely.
Something sounds familiar
In the coachman's long songs:
That reckless revelry
That's heartbreak...
No fire, no black house,
Wilderness and snow... Towards me
Only miles are striped
They come across one.
Alexander Pushkin
Winter. What should we do in the village? I meet
The servant bringing me a cup of tea in the morning,
Questions: is it warm? Has the snowstorm subsided?
Is there powder or not? and is it possible to have a bed?
Leave for the saddle, or better before lunch
Messing around with your neighbor's old magazines?
Powder. We get up and immediately get on horseback,
And trot across the field at first light of day;
Arapniks in hands, dogs following us;
We look at the pale snow with diligent eyes;
We circle, we scour, and sometimes it’s late,
Having poisoned two birds with one stone, we are heading home.
How much fun! Here is the evening: the blizzard howls;
The candle burns darkly; embarrassed, the heart aches;
Drop by drop, I slowly swallow the poison of boredom.
I want to read; eyes glide over the letters,
And my thoughts are far away... I close the book;
I take a pen and sit; I forcibly pull out
The slumbering muse has incoherent words.
The sound doesn’t match the sound... I’m losing all rights
Above the rhyme, above my strange servant:
The verse drags on sluggishly, cold and foggy.
Tired, I stop arguing with the lyre...
Winter evening
The storm covers the sky with darkness,
Whirling snow whirlwinds;
Then, like a beast, she will howl,
Then he will cry like a child,
Then on the dilapidated roof
Suddenly the straw will rustle,
The way a belated traveler
There will be a knock on our window.
Our dilapidated shack
And sad and dark.
What are you doing, my old lady?
Silent at the window?
Or howling storms
You, my friend, are tired,
Or dozing under the buzzing
Your spindle?
Let's have a drink, good friend
My poor youth
Let's drink from grief; where is the mug?
The heart will be more cheerful.
Sing me a song like a tit
She lived quietly across the sea;
Sing me a song like a maiden
I went to get water in the morning.
The storm covers the sky with darkness,
Whirling snow whirlwinds;
Then, like a beast, she will howl,
She will cry like a child.
Let's have a drink, good friend
My poor youth
Let's drink from grief: where is the mug?
The heart will be more cheerful.
It rained yesterday morning
He knocked on the glass windows,
There is fog above the ground
Got up like clouds.
At noon the rain stopped
And that white fluff,
Snow began to fall.
The night has passed. It's dawn.
There is no cloud anywhere.
The air is light and clean,
And the river froze.
Hello, winter guest!
We ask for mercy
Sing songs of the north
Through forests and steppes.
We have freedom, -
Walk anywhere:
Build bridges across rivers
And lay out the carpets.
We will never get used to it, -
Let your frost crack:
Our Russian blood
It burns in the cold!
Ivan Nikitin
Winter night in the village
Cheerfully shines
A month over the village;
White snow sparkles
Blue light.
Moon's rays
God's temple is doused;
Cross under the clouds
Like a candle, it burns.
Empty, lonely
Sleepy village;
Blizzards deep
The huts were swept away.
Silence is silent
In the empty streets,
And you can't hear the barking
Watchdogs...
I walked along the swamp in winter
In galoshes,
In Hat
And with glasses.
Suddenly someone rushed along the river
On metal
Hooks.
I ran quickly to the river,
And he ran into the forest,
He attached two planks to his feet,
Sat down,
Jumped
And disappeared.
And for a long time I stood by the river,
And I thought for a long time, taking off my glasses:
"How strange
Planks
And incomprehensible
Hooks!"
Mikhail Isakovsky
Winter evening
Behind the window in the white field -
Dusk, wind, snow...
You're probably sitting at school,
In his bright room.
While the winter evening is short,
She leaned over the table:
Either you write or you read,
What are you thinking about?
The day is over - and the classrooms are empty,
There is silence in the old house,
And you're a little sad
That today you are alone.
Because of the wind, because of the blizzard
All the roads are empty
Your friends won't come to you
Spend the evening together.
The snowstorm covered the paths, -
It's not easy to get through.
But there's fire in your window
Visible very far away.
Sergey Yesenin
Winter sings and echoes,
The shaggy forest lulls
The ringing sound of a pine forest.
All around with deep melancholy
Sailing to a distant land
Gray clouds.
And there's a snowstorm in the yard
Spreads a silk carpet,
But it's painfully cold.
Sparrows are playful,
Like lonely children,
Huddled by the window.
The little birds are cold
Hungry, tired,
And they huddle tighter.
And the blizzard roars madly
Knocks on the hanging shutters
And he gets angrier.
And the tender birds are dozing
Under these snowy whirlwinds
At the frozen window.
And they dream of a beautiful
In the smiles of the sun is clear
Beautiful spring.
Birch
White birch
Below my window
Covered with snow
Exactly silver.
On fluffy branches
Snow border
The brushes have blossomed
White fringe.
And the birch tree stands
In sleepy silence,
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire.
And the dawn is lazy
Walking around
Sprinkles branches
New silver.
Dilapidated hut
Dilapidated hut
It's all covered in snow.
Grandma-old lady
Looking out the window.
To the naughty grandchildren
Knee-deep snow.
Fun for the kids
Fast sled run...
They run, laugh,
Making a snow house
They ring loudly
Voices all around...
There will be a snow house
Frisky game...
My fingers will get cold, -
It's time to go home!
Tomorrow we'll have tea,
They look out the window -
And the house has already melted,
It's spring outside!
Nekrasov Nikolay
Little man with a marigold
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
I came out of the forest; it was bitterly cold.
I see it's slowly going uphill
A horse carrying a cart of brushwood.
And walking importantly, in decorous calm,
A man leads a horse by the bridle
In big boots, in a short sheepskin coat,
In big mittens... and he's as small as a fingernail!
“Great, lad!” - Go past! -
“You’re so formidable, as I can see!
Where do the firewood come from? - From the forest, of course;
Father, you hear, chops, and I take it away.
(A woodcutter's ax was heard in the forest.) -
“What, my father has big family?» -
The family is big, two people
Just men: my father and I... -
“So there it is! What’s your name?”
Vlas. - “What year are you?” -
The sixth has passed...
- Well, dead! - the little one shouted in a deep voice,
He pulled the reins and walked faster.
Snowball
The snowball is fluttering, spinning,
It's white outside.
And puddles turned
In cold glass.
Where the finches sang in summer,
Today - look! -
Like pink apples
There are bullfinches on the branches.
The snow is cut up by skis,
Like chalk, creaky and dry,
And the red cat catches
Cheerful white flies.
For whom are you singing, blizzard,
With silver horns?
- For little bear cubs,
That they are fast asleep in the den.
First snow
It smelled like winter cold
To the fields and forests.
Light up bright purple
Before sunset the sky.
At night the storm raged,
And with dawn to the village,
To the ponds, to the deserted garden
The first snow started to fall.
And today over the wide
White tablecloth fields
We said goodbye belatedly
A string of geese.
A.S. Pushkin
Winter morning
Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora,
Be the star of the north!
In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now... look out the window:
Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.
The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.
But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?
Sliding on the morning snow,
Dear friend, let's indulge in running
impatient horse
And we'll visit the empty fields,
The forests, recently so dense,
And the shore, dear to me.
Alexander Pushkin
The sorceress is coming - winter,
Came, crumbled into shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees,
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields around the hills.
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
The frost has flashed, and we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter.
Snow! Snow! Snow!
Alexander Pushkin
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The sorceress is coming - winter,
She came and fell apart; shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees,
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields around the hills.
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
The frost has flashed, and we are glad
Mother's pranks are winter.
Pushkin Alexander
From the novel "Eugene Onegin"
That year the weather was autumn
I stood in the yard for a long time,
Winter was waiting, nature was waiting.
Snow only fell in January
On the third night. Waking up early
Tatiana saw through the window
In the morning the yard turned white,
Curtains, roofs and fences,
There are light patterns on the glass,
Trees in winter silver,
Forty merry ones in the yard
And softly carpeted mountains
Winter is a brilliant carpet.
Everything is bright, everything is white all around.
Dressed up the Christmas tree in a festive dress:
In colorful garlands, in bright lights,
And the Christmas tree stands, sparkling, in a magnificent hall,
Remembering with sadness the old days.
The Christmas tree dreams of an evening, monthly and starry,
Snowy meadow, sad cry of wolves
And the neighboring pine trees, in a frosty mantle,
Everything is in diamond shine, covered in fluff of snow.
And the neighbors stand in gloomy sadness,
They dream and drop white snow from the branches...
They dream of a Christmas tree in a lit hall,
Laughter and stories of joyful children.
Winter night
The day cannot be corrected by the efforts of the luminaries,
Do not lift the shadows of Epiphany veils.
It's winter on earth, and the smoke of the fires is powerless
Straighten the houses that lay flat.
Rolls of lanterns and crumpets of roofs, and black
White in the snow - the doorframe of the mansion:
This is a manor's house, and I am its tutor.
I am alone - I sent the student to bed.
They are not waiting for anyone. But - keep the curtain tight.
The sidewalk is bumpy, the porch is swept away.
Memory, don't worry! Grow together with me! Believe!
And assure me that I am one with you.
Are you talking about her again? But that's not what I'm excited about.
Who revealed the dates to her, who put her on the trail?
That blow is the source of everything. Until the rest,
By her grace, now I don't care.
The sidewalk is in the hillocks. Between the snow ruins
Frozen bottles of bare black ice.
Buns of lanterns. and on the trumpet, like an owl,
Drowned in feathers, unsociable smoke.
It's winter again
Spinning easily and clumsily,
The snowflake sat on the glass.
It snowed thick and white at night -
The room is bright from the snow.
The flying fluff is a little powdery,
And the winter sun rises.
Like every day, fuller and better,
Fuller and better New Year…
Winter pictures
Auntie is walking the puppy.
The puppy parted with the leash.
And now on low level flight
Crows are flying after the puppy.
The snow is sparkling...
What a small thing!
Sadness, where have you gone?
It's getting cold
The wind on the terrace
It's cold in the stroller!
Andreyka is wearing padded jackets,
Sweatshirts, mittens,
Andreike striped scarf
The sisters brought it.
He sits, barely breathing,
In a quilted jacket.
Like at the pole, baby
The sisters equipped it.
Get used to the cold too! -
Sveta explains. -
And winter comes to us,
And not just summer.
***
David Samoilov
Winter has come
In the first week
Glazed
Eyes of water.
In the second week
Stiff
Shoulders of the earth.
In the third week
Buzzed
Blizzards
Winters.
In the first week
I lost heart.
In the second week
I was waiting for a miracle.
And in the third week,
How the snow fell
I felt good
Winter has come.
***
Ivan Surikov
Winter
White snow, fluffy
Spinning in the air
And the ground is quiet
Falls, lies down.
And in the morning snow
The field turned white
Like a veil
Everything dressed him.
Dark forest with a hat
Covered up weird
And fell asleep under her
Strong, unstoppable...
God's days are short
The sun shines little, -
Here come the frosts -
And winter has come.