Yesenin, autumn time is the charm of the eyes. It's a sad time! Ouch charm! Children's poems about autumn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sergey Yesenin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Autumn. Ancient Corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
The cold turns over the pages.

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

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

And distant gray winter threats.

Autumn morning
Alexander Pushkin

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

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

Autumn
Alexander Pushkin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

“The autumn weather that year...”

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...
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin, chapter 5, stanzas I and II)

"Golden autumn has come"

Golden autumn has arrived.
Nature is tremulous, pale,
Like a sacrifice, luxuriously decorated...
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and there she was,
Winter sorceress is coming..
(Excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”, chapter 7, stanzas XXIX and XXX)

VII

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

Analysis of the poem by A. S. Pushkin “Sad time, charm of the eyes”

The golden time of the year amazes with its beauty and poetry. The period when nature brightly and solemnly says goodbye to summer, warmth, greenery, and prepares for winter sleep. Yellow and red foliage adorns the trees, and when they fall off, they form a motley carpet under your feet. The off-season has inspired artists, poets, composers, and playwrights for centuries.

Pushkin was always attracted by autumn with its charm. He loved this time more than any other, about which he tirelessly wrote both in prose and poetry. In the poem “Sad time, charm of the eyes,” Alexander Sergeevich talks about the seasons and comes to the conclusion that the end of October is ideal for him in all respects.

He does not like spring, sung by many poets, because it is dirty and slushy. Can't stand hot summers with constantly buzzing insects. The lyrics are more to the soul of “Russian cold”. But the winter is frosty and long. Although the hero loves to race on a sleigh in the snow and skate. The weather is not always favorable to your favorite pastimes. And sitting at home for a long time by the fireplace is boring and sad for the narrator.

The famous lines were born in the second Boldino autumn in 1833. It is known that this period was the most productive for the poet, his creative upsurge. When the fingers themselves asked for the pen, and the pen for the paper. Preparing for bed, the withering of nature is for Pushkin a stage of renewal, a new life. He writes that he is blooming again.

Already in the first lines there is an antithesis. A striking contrast between two descriptions of one phenomenon. On the one hand, the poet exclaims: “It’s a sad time.” On the other hand, he calls the weather outside the window the charm of the eyes. He writes about the decline of nature - a word with a negative connotation. But at the same time, he informs the reader about his love for this period. The farewell beauty of forests dressed in crimson and gold, devastated fields beckons the author for a walk. In such weather it is impossible to sit indoors.

The lyrical hero is the narrator, behind whom the personality of Alexander Sergeevich himself is drawn. The attentive reader understands that the description is alive. Pushkin depicts what he sees in poetic lines. Nature is spiritualized. Therefore, her image can be considered the second hero of the plot.

The author carefully, politely, very courteously, confidentially communicates with the reader. As if inviting to dialogue. He asks for opinions and apologizes for being too prosaic. Thus, the genre of address was used. This way the reader better understands the author, his mood, feeling and the idea that the poet wanted to convey.

Measured, melodious, rhythmic reading is achieved using the chosen poetic meter - iambic. The poem is divided into octaves, which are stanzas of eight lines.

Compositionally, the text looks unfinished. Alexander Sergeevich ends with the line: “Where should we sail?” Inviting the reader to reflect on this question for himself. A small element of natural-philosophical lyricism in a landscape description.
The lines are purposefully devoid of an accurate description of the landscape.

Pushkin, as a true painter in poetry, here acts as an impressionist. A moment is caught that is about to give way to another. But the picture is slightly blurry, conveying not so much details as emotions.

Thanks to the poem by A.S. Pushkin’s “Sad time, the charm of the eyes” we can see autumn through the eyes of the great poet. After reading the text, it leaves positive emotions and pleasant excitement.

II

Now is my time: I don’t like spring;
The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I’m 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 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

V

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!
I am pleased with your farewell beauty -
I love the lush decay of nature,
Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,
In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,
And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,
And a rare ray of sunshine, and the first frosts,
And distant 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

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

XII

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

“...It's a sad time! The charm of the eyes..." (excerpt from the novel "Eugene Onegin")

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

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,

In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,

And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,

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

And distant threats of gray winter.

This text is an introductory fragment. From the book Commentary on the novel "Eugene Onegin" author Nabokov Vladimir

From the book Russian History literature of the 19th century century. Part 1. 1800-1830s author Lebedev Yuri Vladimirovich

The creative history of A. S. Pushkin’s novel “Eugene Onegin.” In Pushkin's draft papers of the Boldino autumn period of 1830, a sketch of the outline of “Eugene Onegin” was preserved, visually representing the creative history of the novel: “Onegin” Note: 1823, May 9. Chisinau, 1830, 25

From the book In the Light of Zhukovsky. Essays on the history of Russian literature author Nemzer Andrey Semenovich

Zhukovsky's poetry in the sixth and seventh chapters of the novel "Eugene Onegin" The beetle buzzed. A. S. Pushkin Echoes of Zhukovsky’s poetry in “Eugene Onegin” have been repeatedly noted by researchers (I. Eiges, V. V. Nabokov, Yu. M. Lotman, R. V. Iezuitova, O. A. Proskurin). At the same time, attention

From the book From Pushkin to Chekhov. Russian literature in questions and answers author Vyazemsky Yuri Pavlovich

“Eugene Onegin” Question 1.57 “But, my God, what boredom it is to sit with a sick person day and night, Without leaving a single step!” How many days did Onegin sit with his dying man?

From the book 100 greats literary heroes[with illustrations] author Eremin Viktor Nikolaevich

“Eugene Onegin” Answer 1.57 “But, having flown to my uncle’s village, I found Him already on the table, Like a ready-made tribute

From the book Heroes of Pushkin author Arkhangelsky Alexander Nikolaevich

Evgeny Onegin As noted by V.G. Belinsky, “Eugene Onegin” by A.S. Pushkin “wrote about Russia for Russia.” The statement is very important. In general, it must be said that there is a more complete and more accurate disclosure of the image of Eugene Onegin than was done by Belinsky in articles 8 and 9

From the book Universal Reader. 1 class author Team of authors

EVGENY ONEGIN EVGENY ONEGIN - main character Pushkin's novel in verse, the action of which takes place in Russia from the winter of 1819 to the spring of 1825 (see: Yu. M. Lotman. Commentary.) Introduced into the plot immediately, without prefaces or prologues. Eugene Onegin (chapter 1) goes to the village

From the book Universal Reader. 2nd grade author Team of authors

“Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant...” (excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”) Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant, Renews the path on the wood; His horse, sensing the snow, trudges along at a trot; Exploding the fluffy reins, the daring carriage flies; The coachman sits on the beam in a sheepskin coat, in red

From the book Works of Alexander Pushkin. Article eight author

“The sky was already breathing in autumn...” (excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”) Already the sky was breathing in autumn, The sun was shining less often, The day was getting shorter, The mysterious canopy of the forests was exposed with a sad noise, Fog was settling on the fields, A noisy caravan of geese was stretching to the south:

From the book Works of Alexander Pushkin. Article nine author Belinsky Vissarion Grigorievich

“Neater than fashionable parquet...” (excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”) Neater than fashionable parquet The river shines, covered 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 waters, steps carefully onto the ice, glides and

From the book How to Write an Essay. To prepare for the Unified State Exam author Sitnikov Vitaly Pavlovich

“Driven by the spring rays...” (excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin”) Driven by the spring rays, From the surrounding mountains the snow has already fled in muddy streams To the sunken meadows. With a clear smile, nature greets the morning of the year through a dream; The skies are shining blue. Still transparent, the forests seem to rest in peace

From the author's book

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

From the author's book

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

From the author's book

Belinsky V. G. “Eugene Onegin”

From the author's book

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

From the author's book

N. G. Bykova “Eugene Onegin” The novel “Eugene Onegin” occupies a central place in the work of A. S. Pushkin. This is his largest work of art, the richest in content, the most popular, which had the strongest influence on the fate of the entire Russian

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Analysis of the poem by A. S. Pushkin “Sad time, charm of the eyes”

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