Poems about Russian nature. Poems about nature Poets who wrote about nature

Website “Mom can do anything!” collected poems about nature for children. In the article you will find 30 of the best works of famous poets and writers: A. Barto, A. K. Tolstoy, A. N. Pleshcheev, A. S. Pushkin, S. Yesenin and others. These poems are about the most frequent and familiar natural phenomena from childhood such as rainbows, rain, thunderstorms, as well as about the beauty of the world around us.

Rainbow

Sunny playing
In the drops of rain,
Sparkles like a rainbow.
Leaving into the sky

ties together
River banks
Heavenly bridge -
Rainbow-arc!
(L. Gromova)

"Kate"

We've been here all morning
We were fiddling with the sprouts,
We planted them
With my own hands.

Grandma and I are together
They planted seedlings
And Katya went
With a friend in the garden.

Then we had to
Fight the weeds
We pulled them out
With my own hands.

My grandmother and I carried
Full watering cans.
And Katya was sitting
In the garden on a bench.

Are you on the bench?
Are you sitting like a stranger? -
And Katya said:
- I'm waiting for the harvest.
(A. L. Barto)

The sky is crying small tears,
The umbrella in the girl's hand slammed,
The drops melt into little pieces of ice,
Slowly sliding down my cheek.

The rain has begun, passers-by are in a hurry,
A cloud hovers like a black raven,
Are these bad moments?
There's thunder in the sky.

The leaves sparkled like mirrors,
Streams rang in the drains,
Crystal drops fall from the sky,
Turning, with a shiver, into bubbles.

The sky became overcast, the rain intensified,
The horizon is no longer visible,
The wind was a little offended by the weather,
Unfurling an umbrella in a fit of rage.

The air is clean, you won’t breathe in ozone,
Take a deep breath, my head is spinning,
In the rhythmic knock the song of the rain is heard
And the grass glistens under the drops.
(V. Zadorozhny)

The last snow in the field is melting,
Warm steam rises from the ground.
And the blue jug blooms,
And the cranes call each other.

Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Warm thunderstorms are impatiently awaiting.
All springs are warmed by breath,
Everything around loves and sings.
(A.K. Tolstoy)

Birch

A white-trunked birch tree bent over a pond.
The mirror water admires its beauty.
The birch tree washes itself with dew in the morning.
The wind caresses her, the fog basks with her.

She stands elegantly with her braid flowing
And the traveler admires the unwritten beauty.
A ray of sunshine, a scarlet dawn comes to visit her
And that makes her even cuter.
(B. Sheshegov)

"Spring"

The snow is already melting, the streams are flowing,
There was a breath of spring through the window...
The nightingales will soon whistle,
And the forest will be dressed in leaves!

Pure heavenly azure,
The sun became warmer and brighter,
It's time for evil blizzards and storms
It's gone for a long time again.
(A. N. Pleshcheev)

Fog

From a magic jug
The river released the genie,
And he swam over the water
With a long white beard,
Over the fields, over the meadows,
Cleverly hiding behind the stacks.
He retreated into the dark forest,
Got lost and disappeared.
(N. Tsvetkova)

No wonder winter is angry,
Her time has passed -
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.

And everything started to fuss,
Everything forces Winter to get out -
And larks in the sky
The ringing bell has already been raised.

Winter is still busy
And he grumbles about Spring.
She laughs in her eyes
And it just makes more noise...

The evil witch went crazy
And, grab the snow,
She let me in, running away,
To a beautiful child...

Spring and grief are not enough:
Washed in the snow
And only became blusher
Against the enemy.
(F. Tyutchev)

"In the meadow"

The forests in the distance are more visible,
Blue skies
More noticeable and blacker
There is a stripe on the arable land,
And children's sounds are louder
Voices above the meadow.

Spring is passing by
But where is she herself?
Chu, a clear voice is heard,
Isn't this spring?
No, it's loud, subtle
A wave gurgles in the stream...
(A. Blok)

Mushroom rain

The forest is washed with warm rain,
Leaves and grass whisper,
And they raise the trunks to the sky
The crown of a green oak forest.

Having chosen an observation post in the branches,
Rejoicing in the shower in July,
A blackbird swings like on a swing
With a drop of sun on its beak.
(S. Makhotin)

Autumn

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

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

Lies on the leaves for a long time
The nights are frosty, and through the forest
Looks kind of cold
The clarity of transparent skies...
(A.N. Maikov)

Driven by spring rays,
There is already snow from the surrounding mountains
Escaped through muddy streams
To the flooded meadows.
Nature's clear smile
Through a dream he greets the morning of the year;

The skies are shining blue.
Still transparent, forests
It's like they're turning green.
Bee for field tribute
Flies from a wax cell.
The valleys are dry and colorful;

The herds rustle and the nightingale
Already singing in the silence of the night.
(A.S. Pushkin)

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.
(A. Prokofiev)

"Spring Storm"

I love thunderstorms at the beginning of May,
When spring, the first thunder,
As if frolicking and playing,
Rumbling in the blue sky.

Young peals thunder,
The rain is splashing, the dust is flying,
Rain pearls hung,
And the sun gilds the threads.

A swift stream runs down the mountain,
The noise of birds in the forest is not silent,
And the noise of the forest, and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder...
(F.I. Tyutchev)

Bird cherry

Bird cherry fragrant
Bloomed with spring

And golden branches,
What curls, curled.
Honey dew all around
Slides along the bark
Spicy greens underneath
Shines in silver.
And nearby, by the thawed patch,
In the grass, between the roots,
The little one runs and flows
Silver stream.
Bird cherry fragrant
Having hung himself, he stands,
And the greenery is golden
It's burning in the sun.
The stream is like a thunderous wave
All branches are doused
And insinuatingly under the steep
Sings her songs.
(S. Yesenin)
***

"Summer"

Warmed by the warm rain,
Our summer has arrived.
Standing on the threshold
Jumped along the road.
Ran through the flowers
I can hear summer
Here and there.

Summer, summer, hot day,
A tired stump from the heat
He groaned quietly and sighed,
And I took a nap until the fall.
(L. Kislenko)

Burdock

Burdock stood in the rain
And the water made him fat and fluffy.
The burdock did not wither, the burdock did not wither,
The burdock smelled like a wet swamp.

Sheltered the burdock from the stinging jets
Green moss and small flies,
Chipmunks, mice and those
Those who were afraid to get their fur wet.

When the summer rain subsides,
A loud sneeze was heard in the forest.
Rain-soaked burdock
He sneezed four times out loud.
(Courtyards)

"Summer in a red sundress"

Summer in a red sundress
Our Anna liked:
- Give me a sundress,
I'll sew a pocket on it.

Summer in a red sundress
Smiled at our Anna:
- My sundress is not simple,
Sew yourself another one.

Mine is with flowers and gardens,
And endless fields.
It's with cherries and strawberries,
And fragrant strawberries.
(L. Kislenko)

Sunny bunny
ran along the path...
- Lawn Bunny,
where are your legs?
- A ray of light on the grass
and a ray of light in the river,
And the rest -
in mom's hand.

The sun is dressed up
In yellow clothes,
The sun buttoned up
Yellow fasteners.
The sun ran
To the other end of the world -
The sun was catching up
Golden summer.
(A. Alferova)

Summer, summer, old friend
It came to our meadow.
Sat by the fire
Where the kids were bored.
Treated us with raspberries
And it went a long way.
(L. Kislenko)

The stream runs, ringing.
He invites me:
“Come on, let’s race!
Who is faster to the river?!”
And he took off running.
I follow him, not feeling my feet.
The river glitters ahead.
I hear splashing from afar:
“You won’t catch up anyway -
I’ve been in the river for a long time!”
(N. Radchenko)

Somehow summer got boring:
- I’m not dressed in fashion,
The kokoshnik is too small for me,
And the belt is too narrow.

Where can I find a seamstress?
To be dressed fashionably?
Maybe eat fewer berries?
Maybe go on a diet?
(L. Kislenko)

***
"Summer"

Warm days again
Hello, summer time!
Near the river on the sand
The kids are sunbathing.

The ear is golden in the field,
And in the forest the grass is like silk.
The cuckoo gives a voice
And the nightingale fell silent.

The strawberries are turning red,
We are in a hurry with the baskets.
We all have something to do,
We don't sit at home in the summer!
(G. Demchenko)

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

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

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

The waters began to rustle
Fast stream.
The birds have flown away
To warmer climes.
(A. N. Pleshcheev)

"Autumn"

Autumn, autumn, leaf fall,
Yellow leaves dotted the garden.
To a warm region where there are no snowstorms,
The flocks of birds flew away.

Clouds move in succession,
The wind blows under the mountain.
Autumn, autumn, leaf fall,
Yellow leaves dotted the garden.
(G. Demchenko)

Golden leaves swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond,
Like a light flock of butterflies
Freezingly he flies towards the star...
(S. Yesenin)

White fluffy snow
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.

The days have become shorter
The sun shines little.
Here come the frosts,
And winter has come.
(I. Surikov)

...Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
The sorceress winter is coming.
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;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter...
(A.S. Pushkin)

***
Chamomile

In the meadow by that path,
What runs straight into our house,
A flower grew on a long stem -
White with a yellow eye.
I wanted to pick a flower
She raised her hand to him,
And the bee flew off the flower
And buzzes, buzzes:
"Don't touch me!"
(M. Poznanskaya)

Nature has inspired man to create works of art at all times. Poems about the nature of their native land were written by ancient poets and modern authors. Even in exile or emigration, famous poets remembered the nature of their homeland and created works about it.

We have collected for you the best poems about nature. This list will be useful to those who were asked to learn beautiful poems at school or kindergarten. If you are going on a long journey, poems about Russian nature will remind you of your native places. Additionally, nature poems allow us to take a little trip through our imagination. Residents of big cities often forget about the beauty of the Russian countryside, about nature in the forests or in the most distant but beautiful corners of our big country.

In our selection:

• Poems about Russian nature
• Pushkin's poems about nature
• Poems about nature by Russian poets
• Poems about nature for children

Not only Russian poems about nature are interesting, but also works by foreign authors. We may never go to Italy, but we will be able to stroll through the streets of Naples thanks to poetry. Surprisingly, but true: many poets who wrote about the nature of distant countries never left their hometown. But the power of our imagination is such that we can imagine unfamiliar places by reading about them in poetry and prose.

We have separately highlighted the poems of A.S. Pushkin about nature, because they are closest to the Russian people, resonate in his heart and sound powerful and modern, despite the fact that they were written many years ago. Much changes, but there are eternal and beautiful things - the nature of our fertile and picturesque land always remains worthy of being sung in poetry.

Poems about Russian nature

Evgeny Baratynsky

Spring, spring! How clean the air is!
How clear is the sky!
Its azuria alive
He blinds my eyes.

Spring, spring! how high
On the wings of the breeze,
Caressing the sun's rays,
Clouds are flying!

The streams are noisy! the streams are shining!
Roaring, the river carries
On the triumphant ridge
The ice she raised!

The trees are still bare,
But in the grove there is a decaying leaf,
As before, under my foot
And noisy and fragrant.

Soared under the sun
And in the bright heights
The invisible lark sings
A cheerful hymn to spring.

What's wrong with her, what's wrong with my soul?
With a stream she is a stream
And with a bird, a bird! murmuring with him,
Flying in the sky with her!

Why does she make her so happy?
And sun and spring!
Does she rejoice, like the daughter of the elements,
Is she at their feast?

What needs! Happy is whoever is on it
Oblivion of thought drinks,
Who is far from her
He, marvelous, will take it away!

Sergey Yesenin

Blizzard

Spin, days, your former yarn,
A living soul cannot be rebuilt forever.
No!
I'll never get along with myself,
To myself, my beloved,
I'm a stranger.

Peeling maple
With its black top
Nasal hoarsely
To the sky about the past.
What kind of maple is it?
He's just a pillory -
I would hang it on it
Or give it up for scrapping.

And the first
I need to be hanged
With my arms crossed behind my back,
For the fact that the song
Hoarse and sick
I disturbed my sleep
Native country.

I don't like
Rooster crows
And I say
What if it were in force,
Then everyone would like roosters
I tore out the guts
So that they
They didn't cry at night.

But I forgot
That I myself am a rooster
Screaming with all his might
Before the dawn of the region,
Trampling on my father's covenants,
Worried at heart
And in verse.

The blizzard is screaming
It's like a boar
Whom they were going to kill.
Cold,
Ice fog,
You won't understand
Where is the distance
Where nearby...

The moon, probably
The dogs ate -
It's been a long time since
Can't see it in the sky.
Pulling the thread from the tow,
With spindle
The mother is conducting the conversation.

Deaf cat
Listens to that conversation
Hanging from the couch
An important chapter.
No wonder they say
Shy neighbors
What does he look like
To a black owl.

Eyes close together
And how I squint them,
I see it clearly
From a fairy tale time:
The cat paws at me
Shows the muzzle,
And the mother is like a witch
From the Kyiv mountain.

I don't know if I'm sick
Or not sick
But only thoughts
They wander around randomly.
In the ears of the grave
The sound of shovels
With the sobbing of distant
Bell tower.

Yourself deceased
I see in the coffin.
To the hallelujah
Sexton's lamentations
I'm dead forever
I'm going lower
Laying on them
Two copper patches.

With this money
From dead eyes
The gravedigger will become warmer, -
I'm buried
It's the same time
He'll kill himself like a fool.

And he will say loudly:
“What an eccentric!
He's in life
I went on a rampage...
But I couldn’t overcome
Five pages
From Capital.

December 1924

Golden leaves swirled

Golden leaves swirled
In the pinkish water of the pond,
Like a light flock of butterflies
Freezingly, he flies towards the star.

I'm in love this evening,
The yellowing valley is close to my heart.
The wind boy up to his shoulders
The hem of the birch tree was stripped.

Both in the soul and in the valley there is coolness,
Blue twilight like a flock of sheep,
Behind the gate of the silent garden
The bell will ring and die.

I've never been thrifty before
So did not listen to rational flesh,
It would be nice, like willow branches,
To capsize into the pink waters.

It would be nice, smiling at the haystack,
The muzzle of the month chews hay...
Where are you, where is my quiet joy -
Loving everything, wanting nothing?

***
Winter sings, 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.

***
Winter

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
“Thank you” to her for her efforts.

Here are the patterns
On glass of wondrous beauty.
Everyone turned their gaze
Looking at this. From above

Snow falls, flashes, curls,
Lays down like a white veil.
Here the sun is blinking in the clouds,
And the frost sparkles on the snow.

***
Spring evening

The silver river flows quietly
In the kingdom of evening green spring.
The sun sets behind the forested mountains,
A golden horn emerges from the moon.

The West is covered with a pink ribbon,
The plowman returned to the hut from the fields,
And beyond the road in the birch thicket
The nightingale sang a song of love.

Listens affectionately to deep songs
From the west the dawn is like a pink ribbon.
Looks tenderly at the distant stars
And the earth smiles at the sky.

***
Sunrise

The red dawn lit up
In the dark blue sky,
The lane appeared clear
In its golden shine.

The rays of the sun are high
Reflected light in the sky.
And scattered far away
There are new ones in response.

The rays are bright golden
Suddenly the earth was illuminated.
The skies are already blue
Spread around.

***
Bird cherry

Bird cherry fragrant
Bloomed with spring
And golden branches,
What curls, curled.
Honey dew all around
Slides along the bark
Spicy greens underneath
Shines in silver.
And nearby, by the thawed patch,
In the grass, between the roots,
The little one runs and flows
Silver stream.
Fragrant bird cherry,
Having hung himself, he stands,
And the greenery is golden
It's burning in the sun.
The stream is like a thunderous wave
All branches are doused
And insinuatingly under the steep
Sings her songs.

Pushkin's poems about nature

Autumn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XII
Floating. Where should we sail?
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .

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 through 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.

Cloud

The last cloud of the scattered storm!
Alone you rush across the clear azure,
You alone cast a dull shadow,
You alone sadden the jubilant day.

You recently hugged the sky,
And lightning wrapped around you menacingly;
And you made mysterious thunder
And she watered the greedy land with rain.

Enough, hide! The time has passed
The earth was refreshed and the storm passed,
And the wind, caressing the leaves of the trees,
He's driving you out of the calm heavens.

Magic land

...Magic land! a delight to the eyes!
Everything is alive there: hills, forests,
Amber and yakhont grapes,
The valleys are a sheltered beauty,
And the streams and poplars are cool...
All the traveler's senses beckon,
When, at a serene hour in the morning,
In the mountains, along the coastal road
His usual horse runs,
And greening moisture
Before him it shines and makes noise
Around the Ayu-Dag cliffs...

You are spoiled by nature

You are spoiled by nature;
She was partial to you
And our eternal praise
It seems like a boring ode to you.
You yourself have known for a long time,
That it’s no wonder to love you,
That with your tender gaze you are Armida,
That you are a Sylph with ease,
What are your scarlet lips,
Like a harmonious rose...
And our rhymes, our prose
There is noise and bustle before you.
But beauty is a memory
Secretly touches our hearts -
And lines of careless outline
I humbly add it to your album.
Perhaps as a keepsake involuntarily
The one who sang you will come to you
In those days like Presnenskoye Field
There was no fence yet.

Land and sea

When across the blue seas
Zephyr glides and blows quietly
In the sails of proud ships
And he cherishes the boats on the waves;
Worries and thoughts add up,
Then I'm more lazy when I'm lazy -
And I forget the songs of the muses:
The sweet sound of the sea is dearer to me.
When will the waves hit the shores?
They roar, boil and splash foam,
And thunder roars across the skies,
And lightning flashes in the darkness, -
I'm moving away from the seas
To the hospitable oak trees;
The earth seems truer to me
And I feel sorry for the stern fisherman:
He lives on a fragile boat,
The game of the blind abyss.
And I'm in safe silence
I listen to the sound of the valley stream.

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,
Forgetting the excitement of fear.
And the square in the twilight of the night
It's standing, full of yesterday's execution.
A fresh trail of torment all around:
Where is the corpse, chopped up on a grand scale,
Where is the pillar, where is the pitchfork; there are boilers,
Cooled down full of resin;
There is an overturned block here;
Iron teeth stick out,
With bones, piles of ashes smolder,
On stakes, crouching, dead
The numb ones turn black...
Recently there is blood on all sides
A skinny stream of snow turned crimson,
And a languid groan rose,
But death touched them like a dream,
She captured her prey.
Who's there? Whose horse is at full speed?
Rushing across the menacing square?
Whose whistle, whose loud conversation
Is it heard in the darkness of the night?
Who is this? - He's a daring guy.
He's in a hurry, he's flying to a date,
Desire boils in his chest.
He says: “My horse is dashing,
My faithful horse! fly like an arrow!
Hurry, hurry!..” But the horse is zealous
Suddenly he waved his braided mane
And so he did. In the darkness between the pillars
On an oak crossbar
The corpse was rocking. Rider is harsh
I was ready to rush under it,
But the greyhound horse struggles under the whip,
Snores and snorts and tears
Back. "Where? my horse is dashing!
What are you afraid of? What's wrong with you?
Weren't we jumping here yesterday?
Were we not the ones who trampled furiously?
Diligent revenge of grief,
Dashing traitors to the king?
Isn't it their blood that washed them?
Your damask hooves!
Now don’t you recognize them?
My greyhound horse, my daring horse,
Rush, fly!..” And the horse is tired
He galloped into the pillars.

Shining among the wide fields,
There it is pouring!.. Hello, Don!
From your distant sons
I brought you a bow.

Like an illustrious brother,
The rivers know the quiet Don;
From Araks and Euphrates
I brought you a bow.

Having rested from the evil pursuit,
Feeling my homeland,
The Don horses are already drinking
Arpachai stream.

Prepare, dear Don,
For dashing riders
The juice is boiling, sparkling
Your vineyards.

The Terek rushes between the mountain walls,
The wild shore is washed away by the waves,
Bubbling around huge rocks,
Here and there he digs a road,
Like a living beast, roars and howls -
And suddenly he calmed down and became humble.

Lower and lower, falling lower,
He's running away barely alive.
So, after the storm, exhausted,
The stream flows like rain.
And then it was revealed
Its siliceous bed.

The cold winds are still blowing
And the morning frosts bring
Fresh from the spring thawed patches
Early flowers appeared;
As if from a wonderful kingdom of wax,
From fragrant honey kelley
The first bee flew out
Flew over early flowers
To find out about the red spring,
Will there be a dear guest soon,
Will the meadows soon turn green?
Soon will the curly birch tree
Sticky leaves will bloom,
The fragrant bird cherry will bloom.

Poems about nature by Russian poets

Fedor Tyutchev

Not what you think, nature:
Not a cast, not a soulless face -
She has a soul, she has freedom,
It has love, it has language...
_________________

You see the leaf and color on the tree:
Or did the gardener glue them?
Or the fetus is ripening in the womb
The play of external, alien forces?..
_________________

They don't see or hear
They live in this world as if in the dark,
For them, even the suns, you know, do not breathe,
And there is no life in the sea waves.

The rays did not descend into their souls,
Spring did not bloom in their chests,
The forests didn't speak in front of them
And the night in the stars was silent!

And in unearthly tongues,
Wavering rivers and forests,
I didn’t consult with them at night
There is a thunderstorm in a friendly conversation!

It's not their fault: understand, if possible,
Organa life of the deaf and dumb!
Soul him, ah! won't alarm
And the voice of the mother herself!..

No wonder winter is angry,
Her time has passed -
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.

And everything started to fuss,
Everything forces Winter to get out -
And larks in the sky
The ringing bell has already been raised.

Winter is still busy
And he grumbles about Spring.
She laughs in her eyes
And it just makes more noise...

The evil witch went crazy
And, capturing the snow,
She let me in, running away,
To a beautiful child...

Spring and grief are not enough:
Washed my face in the snow
And she only became blusher,
Against the enemy.

There is in the initial autumn
A short but wonderful time -
The whole day is like crystal,
And the evenings are radiant...

Where the cheerful sickle walked and the ear fell,
Now everything is empty - space is everywhere, -
Only a web of thin hair
Glistens on the idle furrow.

The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,
But the first winter storms are still far away -
And pure and warm azure flows
To the resting field...

The snow is still white in the fields,
And in the spring the waters are noisy -
They run and wake up the sleepy shore,
They run and shine and shout...

They say all over:
"Spring is coming, spring is coming,
We are messengers of young spring,
She sent us ahead!

Spring is coming, spring is coming,
And quiet, warm May days
Ruddy, bright round dance
The crowd cheerfully follows her!..”

Look how the grove turns green,
drenched in the scorching sun -
And there is such a feeling of bliss in her
From every branch and leaf!

Let's go in and sit over the roots
Trees fed by a spring -
Where, surrounded by their darkness,
He whispers in the mute darkness.

Their peaks loom above us,
Immersed in the midday heat -
And only sometimes the cry of an eagle
It reaches us from above...

How cheerful is the roar of summer storms,
When, throwing up the flying dust,
A thunderstorm that has swept in like a cloud,
Will confuse the blue sky
And recklessly and madly
Suddenly he runs into the oak grove,
And the whole oak grove will tremble
Broad leaves and noisy!..

As if under an invisible heel,
The forest giants bend;
Their peaks grumble anxiously,
Like conferring with each other, -
And through sudden anxiety
Bird whistles are continuously heard,
And here and there the first yellow leaf,
Spinning, it flies onto the road...

Through the azure darkness of the night
The Alps look snowy -
Their eyes are dead
They reek of icy horror -
They are fascinated by some power,
Before the Dawn rises
Dormant, menacing and foggy,
Like fallen kings!..

But the East will only turn red,
The disastrous spell ends -
The first one in the sky will brighten
The eldest brother's crown.
And from the head of big brother
A stream runs on the smaller ones,
And shines in crowns of gold
The whole resurrected Family!..

Afanasy Fet

Dawn says goodbye to the earth,
Steam lies at the bottom of the valleys,
I look at the forest covered in darkness,
And to the lights of its peaks.

How imperceptibly they go out
The rays go out at the end!
With what bliss they bathe in them
The trees are their lush crown!

And more and more mysterious, more immeasurable
Their shadow grows, grows like a dream;
How subtle at dawn
Their light essay is exalted!

As if sensing a double life
And she is doubly fanned, -
And they feel their native land,
And they ask for the sky.

Sounded over the clear river,
It rang in a darkened meadow,
Rolled over the silent grove,
It lit up on the other side.

Far away, in the twilight, with bows
The river runs to the west.
Having burned with golden borders,
The clouds scattered like smoke.

On the hill it is either damp or hot,
The sighs of the day are in the breath of the night, -
But the lightning is already glowing brightly
Blue and green fire.

It's still light in front of the window,
The sun shines through the gaps in the clouds,
And the sparrow with its wing,
Swimming in the sand, it trembles.

And from heaven to earth,
The curtain moves, swinging,
And as if in gold dust
Behind it stands the edge of the forest.

Two drops splashed onto the glass,
The linden trees smell of fragrant honey,
And something came to the garden,
Drumming on fresh leaves.

Learn from them - from the oak, from the birch.
It's winter all around. Cruel time!
In vain their tears froze,
And the bark cracked, shrinking.

The blizzard is getting angrier and every minute
Angrily tears up the last sheets,
And a fierce cold grabs your heart;
They stand, silent; shut up too!

But trust in spring. A genius will rush past her,
Breathing warmth and life again.
For clear days, for new revelations
The grieving soul will get over it.

What an evening! And the stream
So it breaks.
Like a nightingale dawning
It's ringing out!

Moon with light from above
I drenched the fields,
And in the ravine the shine of water,
Shadow and willow.

To know that the dam has been leaking for a long time:
The boards are rotten, -
And you can’t help but lie down here
On the railing.

This is how everything lives in the spring!
In the grove, in the field
Everything trembles and sings
Involuntarily.

We'll shut up in the bushes
These choirs -
They will come with a song on their lips
Our children;

And not children, this is how they will pass
With a song grandchildren:
They will come down to them in the spring
Same sounds.

The lake fell asleep; the forest is silent;
A white mermaid swims casually out;
Like a young swan, the moon among the skies
It glides and contemplates its double on the moisture.

The fishermen fell asleep near the sleepy lights;
The pale sail does not move a fold;
Sometimes a heavy carp splashes among the reeds,
Letting a wide circle run through the smooth moisture.

How quiet... I hear every sound and rustle;
But the sounds of the silence of the night do not interrupt, -
Let the nightingale's live trill be bright,
Let the grass sway on the mermaid's water...

Like the first golden ray
Between white mountains and gray clouds
Slides along the ledges of the peaks
On top of towers and ruins,
When in valleys full of darkness,
The motionless blue fog, -
Let your delight into the darkness of hearts
Such is the light, singer!

And like a young rose,
Born of an early dawn,
When the wings are still scorching
The wind did not reveal the noon
And the wet sigh of the night fog
Divides between heaven and earth,
The dewdrop is rolling from the leaf, -
Let your song be pure.

Alexey Konstantinovich Tolstoy

The last snow in the field is melting,
Warm steam rises from the earth,
And the blue jug blooms,
And the cranes call each other.

Young forest, dressed in green smoke,
Warm thunderstorms are impatiently awaiting;
Everything is warmed by the breath of spring,
Everything around loves and sings;

In the morning the sky is clear and transparent.
At night the stars shine so brightly;
Why is it so dark in your soul
And why is my heart heavy?

It's sad for you to live, oh friend, I know
And I understand your sadness:
You should fly back to your native land
And you don’t feel sorry for the earthly spring...

The burning afternoon tends to laziness,
Every sound died in the leaves,
In a lush and fragrant rose,
The shiny beetle sleeps basking;
And flowing out of the stones,
Monotonous and thunderous,
He speaks without stopping,
And the mountain spring sings.
Look, it's getting closer on both sides
The dense forest embraces us;
It is full of deep darkness,
It's like clouds have rolled in
Or between centuries-old trees
The night has overtaken us untimely,
Only the sun pours through them
In some places there are fiery needles.
Jagged maple and smooth beech,
Both hard hornbeam and rooty oak
Horseshoes echo the iron sound
Amidst the noise of birds and whistles;
And a tremulous mixture walks
Penumbra in the hazy cool,
And he feels the chest like the whole air
Imbued with fragrant dampness.
There's a sneaky faint ray over there
Slides along a linden tree covered with moss,
And a woodpecker knocking, and somewhere close
An invisible key is babbling in the grass...
Halt. Smoking, flame
It cracks under the road tagan,
Horses are grazing, and far away
The whole world with its false excitement.
Here I could be with you for a long time
Dream about possible happiness!
But, sadly lowering my eyes
And leaning over the steepness,
You silently look at the bay,
Surrounded by green mist...
Tell me, what is your sadness about?
Isn’t that what you’re tormented by,
That happiness is like the distance of the sea,
Runs away from us elusively?
No, we can’t catch up with him,
But there are still joys in life;
Isn't it for you on the rocks?
Are waterfalls running and splashing?
Isn't it for you in the shadow of the night
Did the flowers smell fragrant yesterday?
From the blue waves isn't it for you
Are the sunny days rising?
And this evening? Oh look
What a peaceful glow!
No fluttering can be heard in the leaves,
The sea is motionless; ships,
Like white dots in the distance,
They barely glide, melting in space;
What a holy silence
Reigns all around! Descends to us
Like a premonition of something;
It’s night in the gorges; in the fog there
The gray swamp is smoking,
And all the cliffs around the edges
Burning with evening gold...

FIELD
The field spreads out like a wavy fabric
And merged with the sky as a dark blue edge,
And in the transparent sky a golden shield
The brilliant sun shines above him;
Like the sea, the wind blows through the fields
And the hills are covered with white fog,
He's talking about something furtively with the grass.
And boldly makes noise in the golden rye.
I am alone... And freedom in my heart and thoughts...
Here is my mother, friend and mentor - nature.
And life seems brighter ahead for me,
When to your powerful, wide chest
She tolerates me like a baby
And it pours part of its strength into my soul.
// I. Nikitin

NATIVE LANDS
Wide, free,
Birthplaces...
White birch,
My favorite,
Stands like a white candle,
She looks around:
The ripe rye nods to her,
The meadow bows to her.
It's so nice and sunny all around,
Everywhere you look
Quietly above the lake
The reeds sway.
They float along the narrow channel
Ducklings in a row.
Love Russian nature,
God bless you, my reader!
//E. Serov

IMATRA
It's boiling and noisy. She is still the same
Her spirit hasn't changed!
Granites, sleeping on guard,
She curses out loud.
And, throwing blocks of their waters
In depth, white and foamy,
From the edge of the stones to the edge,
She has one desire.
What's here? dragons of ancient mane?
Mad herds of bison?
Your menacing roar, your twists
They fly, still the same, through the years.
Indomitability, immutability,
The desire to break your captivity
Burn through the unsteady instantaneity,
Crowned with rainbows of foam!
Boil, make noise, strive to be more rebellious,
Goody, gray whirlpool,
Let me believe that I am the same too
I stand above the strife of the former waters!
//IN. Bryusov

RUSSIAN FOREST
There's nothing sweeter
Wander and think here.
Heals, warms,
Feed the Russian forest.
And the thirst will torment you,
That's a little forest guy for me
Among the thorny thickets
The fontanel will show.
I’ll bend over to him to get a drink -
And you can see everything to the bottom.
Water flows,
Tasty and cold.
Rowan trees are waiting for us in the forest,
Nuts and flowers,
Fragrant raspberry
On dense bushes.
I'm looking for a mushroom clearing
I, without sparing my legs,
And if I get tired -
I'll sit down on a tree stump.
There's a goblin wandering around here somewhere
With a green beard.
Life seems different
And my heart doesn't hurt
When over your head,
Like eternity, the forest is noisy.
//WITH. Nikulin

ABOUT HOW GOOD NATURE IS
About how good nature is,
People don't speak often
Under this blue sky,
Above this pale blue water.
Not about the sunset, not about the swell,
What is silver in the distance -
People talk about fish
About rafting timber down the river.
But, looking from the steep shore
On the pink surface,
Sometimes he will say one word,
And this word is “Grace!”
//WITH. Marshak

TAIGA TRAFFIC LIGHT
At the crossroads of two paths,
The day has barely cleared up,
In a washed raspberry
A green light flashed.
The passerby did not slow down,
I looked and knew I was walking!
But when summer got stronger
And the dawn became more elegant,
On thin wires of branches
Raspberries lit
Yellow light.
Having noticed him, a pedestrian
Slowly slowed down.
Taiga is spacious - not a city,
But miracles happen here:
Yesterday under a red traffic light
We stood there for half an hour!
//T. Belozerov

RUSSIAN NATURE
You stood by my cradle,
I heard your songs half asleep,
You gave me swallows in April,
Through the rain the sun smiled at me.
When sometimes the forces changed
And the bitterness of tears burned my heart,
You spoke to me like a sister
The leisurely rustle of birch trees.
Aren't you the one under the storms of alluvial misfortune?
She taught me (remember those years?)
Grow into your native land like pine trees,
Stand and never bend?
In you lies the greatness of my people,
His souls are endless fields,
Pensive Russian nature,
My worthy beauty!
I look into your face - and all the past,
I see the whole future in reality,
You in an unexpected storm and in peace,
Like a mother's heart, I call.
And I know - in this spiky expanse,
In forest expanses and river floods -
The source of strength and everything in this world
My inspired life will yet come to an end!
//IN. Christmas

RUSSIAN RAZDOLE
Russian field, expanse,
Where the grass is not cut,
There's a sea of ​​chamomile,
And over the sea there is blue.
There's a boundless carpet of flowers
Bright, gentle and wide,
And sways in the open field
The grass is a light breeze.
There the grass grows waist-deep,
No paths, no roads.
And what a joy it is
Wander there for at least an hour.
Look into the eyes of daisies,
Smile at the cornflowers,
Delicate pink flower
Clover clings to my feet.
Bells, carnations,
Ivan-tea and St. John's wort-
Everything is blooming and fragrant
Filled with dew.
The splendor of summer herbs,
Can't compare you to anything
Unsolved mystery
Beauty understandable to everyone.
// I. Butrimova

BEREZKA GROWS IN VOLGOGRAD
You were also born in Russia -
field and forest edge.
In every song we have a birch tree,
birch - under every window.
In every spring meadow -
their white live round dance.
But there is a birch tree in Volgograd -
you will see and your heart will skip a beat.
She was brought from afar
to the edges where the feather grass rustles.
How hard it was for her to get used to it
to the fire of the Volgograd land!
How long has she been sad
about light forests in Rus' -
the guys are lying under the birch tree, -
ask them about this.
The grass under the birch tree is not crushed -
no one rose from the ground.
But how does a soldier need it?
so that someone would grieve over him.
And he cried - as bright as a bride,
and remembered - forever, like a mother!
You were also born a soldier -
Don't you understand that?
You were also born in Russia -
birch, sweet land.
Now, wherever you find a birch tree,
you will remember my birch tree,
its silent branches,
her patient sadness.
A birch tree grows in Volgograd.
Try to forget it!
//M. Agashina

BIRCH
In the spruce forest everything is discreet,
Its tones are muted.
And suddenly a white birch tree
Alone in a gloomy spruce forest.
It is known that death in public is easier.
I saw it myself an hour ago,
How it began in a distant grove
Cheerful, friendly leaf fall.
And here she drops leaves
Away from loved ones and friends.
Like fire in a misty thicket
It's light for a hundred steps around.
And it’s incomprehensible to the dark spruce trees,
To those gathered even more closely:
What's wrong with her? After all, we grew green together
Quite recently. What's wrong with her?
And now they are thoughtful, serious,
As if looking down at the ground,
Above the fading birch tree
They stand in silence.
//IN. Soloukhin

Poems about nature are some of the most beautiful poems. Nature is always poetic. Even those who find it difficult to write poetry still want to say something about nature in a beautiful line. I think that children should not memorize poems so that the teacher will proudly praise them at the holiday, and their mother will shed a tear, and not so that they will get a mark at school, but for the sake of the poems themselves.

Read poems about nature, about its beauty, about its wonderful power, about inexhaustible life. Poems by famous and unknown poets. Beautiful and sonorous, quiet and soft, any lines of quatrains about nature exist to be read and enjoyed. Read and quote poems about nature to your children and perhaps then we won’t need to shout slogans about saving it.

I learn from Nature

I learn from Nature
Draw the skies
I learn from Nature
Draw clouds.
Tell me, Nature,
These wonderful colors
Where do you get it, Nature?
I want to know.
Multicolor colors
From unknown tales
You probably dialed
When autumn came.
I see yellow leaves
I see red leaves
Multi-colored brush
You ran through them.

Rainbow

A rainbow hung in the spring sky,
I looked at the earth cheerfully from the sky.
We smiled joyfully in response:
- Rainbow, rainbow, color, overexposure.
The rainbow hung in the sky for a short time,
She looked from heaven to earth for a short time:
Melted...
What is it for everyone to remember?
Did you leave it?
RED poppies,
YELLOW sand,
GREEN is lit
There is a leaf on a branch.
Beetle PURPLE
Warms the sides.
BLUE splashes
River to its banks.
ORANGE sun
The forests are warm.
And the starling
Blue eyes.
(V. Stepanov)

Miracles

Spring walked along the edge of the forest,
She carried buckets of rain.
Stumbled on a hill -
Buckets tipped over.

The drops rang -
The herons began to scream.
The ants got scared -
The doors were locked.

Buckets with rain Spring
I didn’t get it to the village.
A colored rocker
Fled to heaven.
And it hung over the lake -
Chu-de-sa!
(V. Stepanov)

Bug

A brown beetle crawls down a pine tree,
And he drags the sun on his round back.
The sky is swaying
The day sways
A light shadow sways from the tree.
Neither the beetle's paws nor its whiskers are visible.
It moves slower than the hand of a clock.
Probably on the old rough bark
It is inconvenient for him to go down quickly.
Or maybe there is simply nowhere to rush?
Not really! It's very difficult to drag on your back
Huge sun
And the sky
And the day
And even the slightest shadow of a tree.
I wanted to help him: to remove him from the trunk.
He lifted it easily, and on his fingers...
Resin.

Spring

Tiki-taki! Chok-chok!
Whose heel is clicking?
This is a ringing drop!
Is it May or April?

Tiki-taki! Chol-chol!
Who walked through the snow there?
Tiki-taki! Snow donkey!
The cheerful rook has arrived!

Tiki-taki! Choli check!
The snow is filled with water!
Radiant spring
Full of bird chirping!

Tiki-taki! Chivi-chok!
The stream is turning blue!
It takes you into the distance - cheer-lily! -
Homemade ships!
(S. Danilov)

Look how similar they are
In the meadow of daisies:
yellow heads,
white shirts.

On one stem -
twins,
on the other - three at once,
twin triplets.
And this chamomile is one of a kind.
The poor thing must be bored.
(E. Grigorieva)

Conversation with a lark

Still under the ice crust
Lakes.
The snow is high and white.
Listen, loud lark,
You arrived too early!

I'm with the breeze
nimbly
Snow in the valleys
I'll melt it!
I'm with the sun
patterned
Ice on the lakes
I'll split it!

Don't brag in advance!
Look how much work lies ahead!..
And the lark's efforts
Not enough, maybe?..
What then?..

Then, flying under the sun,
I'll sing my song!
A simple song will warm you up
The expanse of lakes,
Steppes,
Fields!
(S. Danilov)

Martin

Swallow to the village
Flew to us
A spring song
She whistled for us.

Yesterday, swallow,
He was blustery and angry.
Sing over the arable land, swallow,
The time for spring has come!
(K. Khetagurov)

Russian nature, broad, vast and vulnerable, like the Slavic soul, was one of the favorite themes of many famous poets. Modern poets, alas, have not adopted the ability to feel nature as keenly as their talented predecessors. But it is precisely the unity of man with nature that allows us to experience those emotions that make us write brightly, vividly, enthusiastically.

Natural beauty as a work of art

Russian nature is truly unique. It, with all its simplicity, awakens deep feelings in a person, makes you appreciate and love the surrounding splendor. Only contemplation of nature can give a person a feeling of harmony and absolute, unclouded happiness.

Reverence for this beauty, no matter whether a green field or a snow-covered forest lies before you, always awakens in a person reflections on life, the meaning of existence and the origins of truth.

Poems about nature by Russian poets are multifaceted. Russian poetry has always strived to teach the reader not only to appreciate beauty, but also to draw spiritual strength from it. No matter how bad and dark the soul may be, a person in the lap of nature always calms down, finds harmony within himself and hope for the best. After withering comes blossoming - and the frozen earth comes to life again when it meets spring.

Thus, the poet Nikolai Rubtsov wrote:

Snow fell - and everything was forgotten,

What was the soul full of!

My heart suddenly began to beat faster,

It's like I drank wine.

No one understands the beauty of Russian nature better than a creative person, who feels much more than we practical pragmatists. Sometimes in the rush of life we ​​do not notice the beauty around us.

Alexander Sergeevich about Russian nature

Perhaps no Russian poet has written about nature so emotionally and vividly. Pushkin, with his characteristic wisdom and ability to subtly select the right words, praised the beauty of autumn - this is his favorite time of year, to which many poems are dedicated. The poet described the beauty that reigned around him, tried to embrace the immensity, paying special attention to details. You can safely paint landscapes based on his poems.

Perhaps one of the most famous poems, into which the poet put all his love for this golden time of the year:

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

I am pleased with your farewell beauty -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold...

Afanasy Fet. Cherish every moment

Afanasy Fet, a pure and sincere poet, wrote about nature constantly. Afanasy had an amazing ability to clearly describe natural phenomena that are familiar to us, which we foolishly do not notice. Every word of his is imbued with love for nature and the desire to convey to the reader how little he notices in his life. But every moment is valuable - a gust of wind in the face, the touch of a ladybug on the hand, the caress of a sunbeam.

It's still light in front of the window,

The sun shines through the gaps in the clouds,

And the sparrow with its wing,

Swimming in the sand, it trembles.

Nature and inner world

Poets, who, like no one else, subtly feel not only their soul, but also the soul of each of their readers, connect nature with the inner world of man. No, the description of landscapes and other details of nature are not the background - they are connected with the mood of the lyrical hero by threads that are not visible to everyone.

Thus, Pushkin in his poem “Flowers of the Last Mile” shows how harmonious everything is in nature and in the inner world - birth and death, growth and withering. Alexander Sergeevich also liked to address natural phenomena as living beings.

Many poems on the theme of the seasons can be found in other great Russian writers: Lermontov, Blok, Tyutchev, Yesenin. But we should talk in more detail about the immortal hooligan Yesenin.

Yesenin about nature

Growing up in the village, Sergei Yesenin loved and understood Russian nature better than any city dweller. He wrote a lot about her, beautifully and sincerely, often combining them with love lyrics. Sergei Alexandrovich teaches the reader to love the Motherland with sincere and pure love, despite its imperfections - a rickety hut, an old maple tree, poor bread. But they are ours, close and dear. Russian nature in the poet's poems is so vividly described that it vividly appears before the reader's mind's eye in all its splendor.

Yesenin dedicated many lines to animals, which he loved very much since childhood. In some of his poems, he addresses our smaller brothers as old comrades. Yesenin sincerely praised natural beauty and dreamed that one day people would come to their senses and stop destroying it. Alas, the passage of time can change little until people change themselves.