S. A. Yesenin. Good morning

The golden stars dozed off,
The mirror of the backwater trembled,
The light is dawning on the river backwaters
And blushes the sky grid.

The sleepy birch trees smiled,
Silk braids were disheveled.
Green earrings rustle
And the silver dews burn.

The fence is overgrown with nettles
Dressed in bright mother of pearl
And, swaying, whispers playfully:
"Good morning!"

I. A. Bunin. On the pond

Clear morning on a quiet pond
Swallows are flying around briskly,
They descend to the water itself,
The wing barely touches the moisture.

On the fly they sing loudly,
And the meadows are green all around,
And the pond stands like a mirror,
Reflecting its shores.

And, as in a mirror, between the reeds,
The forest overturned from its banks,
And the pattern of clouds goes away
Into the depths of the reflected skies.

The clouds there are softer and whiter,
The depth is endless, light...
And it comes steadily from the fields
Above the water there is a quiet ringing sound from the village.

L. A. May "Red summer, cold dew..."

Summer is red, the dew is cold
All the leaves are colored with emerald;
Along the bushes, along the branches they reached
Cobwebs with silver wire;
Turned yellow along the garden tine
Marigolds, tarred with amber;
The currants have also turned red for a long time;
And the gooseberry burned its tendrils;
And the apple shines through and through.

(1857 excerpt from the Song about Princess Ulyana Andreevna Vyazemskaya)

A.K. Tolstoy. "The burning afternoon tends to laziness"

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 faint ray stealthily over there
Slides along a linden tree covered with moss,
And a woodpecker knocking, and somewhere close
An invisible key gurgles in the grass...

Halt. Smoking, flame
It crackles 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...

(1856 excerpts from Crimean Sketches)

I. A. Bunin. Childhood

The hotter the day, the sweeter it is in the forest
Breathe in the dry, resinous aroma,
And I had fun in the morning
Wander through these sunny chambers!

Shine everywhere, bright light everywhere,
The sand is like silk... I’ll cling to the gnarled pine
And I feel: I’m only ten years old,
And the trunk is a giant, heavy, majestic.

The bark is rough, wrinkled, red,
But how warm, how warm everything is by the sun!
And it seems that the smell is not pine,
And the heat and dryness of a sunny summer.

A. A. Blok. “It’s in a wild grove, near a ravine...”

There is in a wild grove, near a ravine,
Green Hill. There's always shade there.
There is living moisture around the stream
The murmur catches up with laziness.
Flowers and herbs cover
Green hill, and never
The rays don't penetrate here,
Only the water rolls quietly.
Lovers, hiding, will not
Looking into the cool darkness.
Tell me why flowers don't fade,
Why hasn't the source dried up? -
There, there, deep, under the roots
My suffering lies
Feeding with eternal tears,
Ophelia, the flowers are yours!

F. I. Tyutchev. "The clouds are melting in the sky..."

The clouds are melting in the sky,
And, radiant in the heat,
The river rolls in sparks,
Like a steel mirror...

The heat is getting stronger hour by hour,
The shadow went to the silent oak trees,
And from the whitening fields
It smells like honey.

Wonderful day! Centuries will pass -
They will also be in the eternal order,
The river flows and sparkles
And the fields to breathe in the heat.

F. I. Tyutchev. "Reluctantly and timidly..."

Reluctantly and timidly
The sun looks over the fields.
Chu, it thundered behind the cloud,
The earth frowned.

Warm gusts of wind,
Distant thunder and rain sometimes...
Green fields
Greener under the storm.

Here I broke through from behind the clouds
Blue lightning jet -
The flame is white and volatile
He bordered its edges.

More often than raindrops,
Dust flies like a whirlwind from the fields,
And thunderclaps
Getting angrier and bolder.

The sun looked again
From under your brows to the fields,
And drowned in the radiance
The whole earth is in turmoil.

A. A. Fet. "The rye is ripening over the hot fields"

The rye is ripening over the hot fields,
And from the field to the field
The whimsical wind blows
Golden shimmers.

The moon looks timidly into the eyes,
I'm amazed that the day hasn't passed,
But wide into the area of ​​the night
The day spread its arms.

Above the boundless harvest of bread
Between sunset and east
Just for a moment the sky closes
Fire-breathing eye.

(Late 1850s)

A. A. Blok. Summer evening

Last rays of sunset
They lie on a field of compressed rye.
Embraced by pink drowsiness
Uncut grass.

Not a breeze, not a bird's cry,
Above the grove is the red disk of the moon,
And the reaper's song fades away
Among the evening silence.

Forget worries and sorrows,
Ride away aimlessly on horseback
In the fog and in the meadow distances,
Towards the night and the moon!

p/s (from the editor of the site http://seasons-goda.rf)
Instead of the last paragraph, you can often find this fragment, sounding in Blok’s poems for children in the form of a lullaby for babies:

The meadows are sleeping, the forests are sleeping,
Fresh dew fell.
The stars are shining in the sky,
The trickles in the river say
The moon is looking through our window,
Tells the little children to sleep.

S. Ya. Nadson. "The dawn is burning lazily..."

The dawn burns lazily
There is a scarlet stripe in the sky;
The village silently falls asleep
Blue in the glow of the night;
And only the song, dying away,
It sounds in the sleeping air,
Yes, a trickle, playing like a stream,
Running murmuring through the forest...
What a night! Like giants
The sleepy trees stand
And emerald glades
In the deep darkness they sleep silently...
In capricious, strange outlines
Clouds are rushing in the sky;
Light and dark in luxurious combinations
Lying on the leaves and trunks...
With greedy joy the chest inhales
Cool streams flow into you,
And again my heart boils
Desire for happiness and love...

S. D. Drozhzhin "Everything has turned green..."

Everything turned green...
The sun is shining
Lark song
It pours and rings.

The rain ones are wandering
There are clouds in the sky
And the shore is quiet
The river is splashing.

Fun with a horse
Young plowman
Goes out into the field
Walks in a furrow.

And above him everything is higher
The sun is rising
lark song
Sings more cheerfully.

Levitan I. I. June Day (Summer). 1890s
A. N. Maikov "Summer Rain"

"Gold, gold is falling from the sky!" -
Children scream and run after the rain...
- Come on, children, we will collect it,
Just collect the golden grain
Barns full of fragrant bread!

A. A. Fet "I came to you with greetings..."

I came to you with greetings,
Tell me that the sun has risen
What is it with hot light
The sheets began to flutter;

Tell me that the forest has woken up,
All woke up, every branch,
Every bird was startled
And full of thirst in spring;

Tell me that with the same passion,
Like yesterday, I came again,
That the soul is still the same happiness
And I’m ready to serve you;

Tell me that from everywhere
It blows over me with joy,
That I don’t know myself that I will
Sing - but only the song is ripening.

Levitan I.I. Fog over the water. 1890s

S. A. Yesenin "The Dormant Bell..."

The dormant bell
Woke up the fields
Smiled at the sun
Sleepy land.

The blows came
To the blue skies
It rings loudly
Voice through the forests.

Hidden behind the river
White moon,
She ran loudly
Frisky wave.

Quiet Valley
Drives away sleep
Somewhere down the road
The ringing stops.

Shcherbakov B.V. June in the Moscow region. 1984

I. A. Bunin "Even from the house in the yard..."

More from the house in the yard
The morning shadows are turning blue,
And under the awnings of buildings
Grass in cold silver;
But the bright heat is already shining,
The ax has been knocking in the barn for a long time,
And flocks of timid pigeons
They sparkle with snowy whiteness.

From dawn the cuckoo is across the river
Sounds loudly in the distance,
And in a young birch forest
It smells like mushrooms and leaves.
Bright river in the sun
Trembling joyfully, laughing,
And the grove reverberates
Above her is the sound sound of a roller.

S. A. Yesenin “The goblin is screaming through the forest...”

In the forest, a goblin screams at an owl.
Midges hide from birds in the grass.
Aw!

The bear is sleeping, and she imagines:
The hunter stabs children with a spear.
Aw!

She cries and shakes her head:
- Children, children, go home.
Aw!

A ringing echo screams into the blue:
- Hey, answer who I’m calling!
Aw!

(1914 - 1916)

I. S. Nikitin "The stars twinkle brightly..."

Brightly twinkling stars
In the blue of the sky;
Moon's radiance
Falls on the forest.

In the mirror of the bay
The sleepy forest looks on;
In the often silent
Darkness lies.

Heard between the bushes
Laughter and conversation;
It's hot with mowers
The fire has been lit.

On the tall grass,
With chains on my feet
Wanders alone
White horse in the dark.

Now the song starts
The songwriter is dashing,
Coming out of the circle
The guy is young.

Throws his hat up
Catches - doesn't look,
Dancing and squatting
The nightingale whistles.

Answers the song
Crake in the meadows,
The song freezes
Far in the fields...

Golden fields,
The smoothness and shine of the lakes,
bright bays,
Endless space

Stars over the fields
Wilderness and reeds...
So they pour on their own
Sounds from the soul!

Every season is wonderful in its own way. The change of month resembles a new life. Everything can be started anew, with a clean slate. And summer is not only a period of opportunity, but also a period of desire.

Everything that happens in summer gives people joy, happiness and warmth.

Quotes about summer by Russian poets

Russian poets have always been distinguished by their eloquence and depth of words. Therefore, like no one else, they were able to convey all the shades of summer.

““I will love you all summer” sounds much more convincing than “all my life” and - most importantly - much longer!”

M.I. Tsvetaeva

“Ah, red summer, I would love you if it weren’t for the dust, the heat, the mosquitoes, and the flies...”

A.S. Pushkin

"There is something beautiful about summer,
And with summer there is beauty in us.”

S.A. Yesenin

“How clear August is, gentle and calm,
Realizing the fleeting nature of beauty.
Gilding the wood sheets
He put his feelings into order."

K.D.Balmont

“Not cooled down by the heat,
The July night shone...
And above the dim earth
The sky is full of thunder
Everything was trembling in the lightning ... "

F.I.Tyutchev

Quotes about the summer of Russian writers

The beauty and charm of summer days was described not only by poets, but also by prose writers. In their notes about summer, they were able not only to describe the beauty of these months, but also to convey to the reader their feelings, their attitude towards life.

“There is something very special about the warm and bright nights of Russian provincial towns at the end of summer. What peace, what prosperity!”

I.A. Bunin

“Oh, our northern summer is a caricature of southern winters.”

A.S. Pushkin

“Happy is he who does not notice whether it is summer or winter.”

A.P.Chekhov

“It was a beautiful July day, one of those days that only happen when the weather has settled for a long time.”

I.S. Turgenev

“For the most part, all the most important events in our lives took place in the summer. In winter it makes me very sleepy due to the cold. True, it also tends to droop in the summer (due to the heat!), but more so in the winter. Therefore, as far as possible, we adjusted all events to summer time.”

L.M. Leonov

Quotes about summer from foreign writers

Foreign writers are in no way inferior to Russians. Every line they wrote carries a huge amount of energy that the author wanted to convey to us. Therefore, reading these texts, it seems to us that we are living someone’s life.

“... The vague, restless melancholy of three long spring months somehow subsided. In the final week it burned out - it flared up, exploded and crumbled to dust. Without any regrets, he turned his face to the endless possibilities of summer.”

Francis Scott

“Our summer is only winter painted green.”

Hegel

“You just have to get up, lean out the window, and you will immediately understand: here it begins, real freedom and life, here it is, the first morning of summer.”

Ray Bradbury

“Summer is the time of year when it is very hot to do things that were very cold to do in winter.”

Mark Twain

“Can you smell the air? August has arrived. Farewell Summer".

Ray Bradbury

Quotes about summer from movies

It seems that it is much easier for cinema to convey all the beauty of summer days. Yes, the picture has an important role, but words are much more important.

“It’s summer, remember? It's only begining!"

From the musical "Vacation"

“If you worry about bad things in the summer, then the problems will follow you in the fall.”

From the movie "Naked Summer"

“Probably everyone experiences a summer in their life when you walk on the ground as if you are flying in the sky.”

From the movie "I Love You"

Quotes about the summer of contemporaries

“My favorite time of year is June, the beginning of summer. When everything is still ahead. This is how you have to live, without looking back. And believe that the whole summer is ahead, and the whole winter is behind.”

Natalya Andreeva

“This is such a strange summer idleness, in which the days creep by exhaustingly slowly, and time flies incomprehensibly quickly.”

Evgeniy Grishkovets

“However, at the end of summer it’s always sad to remember how it began...”

Yuri Slepukhin

Poems about summer for children is one of many collections of poems selected specifically for your beloved children. Both children and adults adore summer because it always brings a lot of joy to life: sweet berries and fruits, trips to nature, to the forest, and most importantly, holidays and vacations give parents the opportunity to spend more time with their children!

We invite you to read simple, memorable poems about summer for children with all the summer impressions. Learn a few poems, train your memory and prepare your child for the first classes at school, when summer days will be remembered with special warmth.

In the collection of poems about summer for children, we tried to collect all the summer emotions so that each poem would be interesting to children and easy to learn.

So much light! So much sun!
So much greenery all around!
Summer has come again
And warmth came to our house.

And there is so much light around,
It smells like spruce and pine.
If only it were summer
It was with me for a whole year!

Summer gifts

What will you give me, summer?
- Lots of sunshine!
There's a rainbow in the sky!
And daisies in the meadow!
- What else will you give me?
- The key ringing in silence,
Pines, maples and oaks,
Strawberries and mushrooms!
I'll give you a cookie,
So that, going out to the edge,
You shouted to her louder:
"Tell me your fortune quickly!"
And she answers you
I guessed for many years!

Ripe summer

Ripe summer
Dressed in berries
In apples and plums.
The days have become beautiful.
So much color!
How much light!
The sun is at the top of summer!

Happy summer

Summer, summer has come to us!
It became dry and warm.
Straight along the path
The feet walk barefoot.
Bees circle, birds fly,
And Marinka is having fun.

The sun is shining brightly...

The sun is shining brightly.
There is warmth in the air.
And wherever you look -
Everything is bright all around!
The meadow is colorful
Bright flowers.
Covered in gold
Dark sheets.

The sky has cleared
The distance has turned blue!
It was as if it wasn’t raining
The river is like crystal!
Over the fast river,
Having illuminated the meadows,
appeared in the sky
Rainbow-arc!

Sunny morning

Lots and lots of sunshine
The sun is a whole country!
The sun's legs are getting stuck
In the low branches by the window.

Here it is a little more
He will accumulate strength in the heights,
Golden centipede
He'll sneak into my house!

In the summer heat

How wonderful it is in the summer heat
Take a walk with mom in the forest,
Enjoy the silence
Bright blue skies.

Summer sun rays

What a good day!
A light breeze is blowing.
Summer sun rays
So nicely hot!

How we spent our time in the summer

We walked, sunbathed,
They played near the lake.
They sat on the bench -
We ate two cutlets.
They brought the frog
And they grew up a little.

All year round. June

June has arrived.
"June! June!" -
Birds are chirping in the garden.
Just blow on a dandelion
And it will all fly apart.

All year round. July

Haymaking occurs in July.
Somewhere thunder grumbles sometimes.
And ready to leave the hive
Young bee swarm.

All year round. August

We collect in August
Fruit harvest.
Lots of joy for people
After all the work.
The sun over the spacious
Nivami is worth it.
And sunflower grains
Black
Stuffed.

What does the sun look like?

What does the sun look like?
On the round window.
Flashlight in the dark.
It looks like a ball
Damn hot too
And for a pie in the stove.
On a yellow button.
On a light bulb. Onion.
On a copper patch.
On a cheese flatbread.
A little bit for an orange
And even on the pupil.
Only if the sun is a ball -
Why is he hot?
If the sun is cheese,
Why are there no holes visible?
If the sun is a bow,
Everyone would cry around.
So it’s shining in my window
Not a nickel, not a pancake, but the sun!
Let it look like everything -
still the most expensive!

The meadow is buttoned up for all the dewdrops.
Silently a ray made its way to them,
Collected dewdrops into a web
And hid it somewhere between the clouds.

SUMMER IS FLYING!

SUMMER

Everything around has turned green,
Turned red, turned blue!
It's summer!
It's summer!
With the warm sea,
With bright light.

Gaida Lagzdyn

***

SUMMER

"Walk!" - beckoned
Forest path.
And so he walked
Along the path Alyosha!..
After all, in the summer in the forest
Interesting, like in a fairy tale:
Bushes and trees
Flowers and frogs,
And the grass is green
Softer than a pillow!..

Boris Zakhoder

***

SUMMER

What will you give me, summer?
- Lots of sunshine!
There's a rainbow in the sky!
And daisies in the meadow!
- What else will you give me?
- The key ringing in silence,
Pines, maples and oaks,
Strawberries and mushrooms!
I'll give you a cookie,
So that, going out to the edge,
You shouted to her louder:
"Tell me your fortune quickly!"
And she answers you
I guessed for many years!

Vladimir Orlov

***

SUMMER

If the wind blows
Warm, albeit from the north,
If the meadow is full of daisies
And lumps of clover,
Butterflies and bees
They are circling over the flowers,
And a fragment of the sky
The puddle turns blue,
And baby skin
Like chocolate...
If from strawberries
The garden bed turned red -
True sign:
Summer has come.

Lidiya Korchagina

***

JUNE

June has the longest day
And the night is very short.
On a sultry afternoon you are looking for shade,
And the shadow is very short.

Rooster and chickens in that shadow
They dig in the dust all day.
And the crowds of noisy kids
They swim in the river all day.

Yuri Vronsky

***

MORNING

The ruddy dawn
The east is covered.
In the village, across the river,
The light went out.
Sprinkled with dew
Flowers in the fields.
The herds have awakened
On soft meadows.

Gray mists
Floating towards the clouds
Geese caravans
They rush towards the meadows.
People woke up
They rush to the fields,
The Sun appeared
The earth rejoices.

Alexander Pushkin

***

Reluctantly and timidly
The sun looks over the fields.
Chu, it thundered behind the cloud,
The earth frowned.

Warm gusts of wind,
Distant thunder and rain sometimes...
Green fields
Greener under the storm.

Here I broke through from behind the clouds
Blue lightning jet -
The flame is white and volatile
He bordered its edges.

More often than raindrops,
Dust flies like a whirlwind into the fields,
And thunderclaps
Getting angrier and bolder.
The sun looked again
From under your brows to the fields,
And drowned in the radiance
The whole earth is in turmoil.

Fedor Tyutchev

***

ALL YEAR ROUND. JUNE

June has arrived.
"June! June!" -
Birds are chirping in the garden.
Just blow on a dandelion -
And it will all fly apart.

Samuel Marshak

ALL YEAR ROUND. JULY

Haymaking is in July
Somewhere thunder grumbles sometimes.
And ready to leave the hive
Young bee swarm.

Samuel Marshak

ALL YEAR ROUND. AUGUST

We collect in August
Fruit harvest.
Lots of joy for people
After all the work.

The sun over the spacious
Nivami is worth it.
And sunflower grains
Black
Stuffed.

Samuel Marshak

***

It's all winter...
Where is summer?
Animals, birds!
Waiting for an answer!

Summer, -
Astochka thinks, -
Arriving very soon.
Summer needs to hurry,
And it flies like a bird!

Is it arriving? -
The Mole snorted. -
It's crawling underground!
You say
Summer is coming soon?
I don't hope so!

Toptygin grumbled:
- Summer
Sleeping in his den
Somewhere...

The horse neighed:
-Where is the carriage?
I'm now
I'll deliver summer!

Summer, -
The hares told me, -
He gets on the train at the station,
Because maybe it's summer
Ride like a hare -
Without a ticket!

Boris Zakhoder

***

SUMMER EVENING

You know, the sun is tired,
It hides behind the mountains;
Beam extinguishes after ray
And, a scarlet thin cloud
Hiding your tired face,
Ready to retire.

For now he can rest;
We know summer is a long journey.
There’s work everywhere: in the mountains,
In the valleys, in the groves and meadows;
Warm him, give him light
And bless everyone at the same time.

Wake up the sleeping flowers
And paint the sheets for them;
Then honey dew
Give the worker bee a drink
And clean drops between the sheets
Leave about the frisky moths.

Crack the shell of the grain
And young from the earth
Bring the blade of grass into the light;
Prepare lunch for the birds;
Those shelters between the branches;
And warm those on the nest.

And give the cherries a ruddy color;
Don't forget the hot light
Scatter on the green garden,
And golden grapes
Cover from the heat with leaves,
And fill the ear with maturity.

Vasily Zhukovsky

***

SUMMER RAIN

"Gold, gold is falling from the sky!" -
Children scream and run after the rain...
- Come on, children, we will collect it,
Just collect the golden grain
Barns full of fragrant bread!

***

The field is rippling with flowers...
Light waves are pouring in the sky...
Spring larks singing
The blue abysses are full.

My gaze is drowned in the brilliance of midday...
You can't see the singers behind the light...
So young hope
They please my heart with greetings...

Apollo Maykov

***

MOWER

Oh, my steppe,
The steppe is free,
You are wide, steppe,
Spread out,
To the Black Sea
Move forward!
I'm visiting you
Not one came:
I came myself-friend
With a scythe at my disposal;
It's been a long time since I walked
On the steppe grass
Up and down
I wanted to be with her...
Get itchy, shoulder!
Swing your hand!
Wave it in your face
Wind from noon!
Refresh, excite
The steppe is spacious!
Buzz, scythe,
Like a swarm of bees!
Mologney, braid,
Sparkle all around!
Make some noise, grass
Mown;
Bow down, flowers,
Head to the ground!

Alexey Koltsov

***

BATHING

I break the mirror of the river
into small, countless pieces,
crushing the reflection into parts of the sky.
I whip foam from the clouds,
I drive the wave along the low shores,
causing confusion among fish and frogs.
The water lily shakes its head at me:
"There's a whirlpool there! What are you doing?! Wait!.."
“Wait!.. Stop!.. Oh!..” - the echo assents.
The water rings like broken glass.
And the sun rises to its zenith,
so that you can slide off it into the backwater, like down a hill.

A. N. Starikov

***

IN SUMMER

Outside the village in full freedom
An airplane wind is blowing.
There's a potato field there
Everything blooms purple.
And beyond the field, where the mountain ash
Always at odds with the wind,
A path runs through the oak tree
Down to the icy pond.
A boat flashed through the bushes,
Ripple and sharp shine of the sun.
The raft rumbles clearly
The sound of rollers accompanied by a loud splash.
The pond turns blue in a round cup.
Willows bend towards the water...
There are shirts on the raft,
And the boys are all in the pond.
The sun streaked down.
Shadows curl like smoke
Eh, I’ll undress behind the birch tree,
I’ll stretch out my arms and go to them!

Sasha Cherny

***

SPRING

In the wilderness of the forest, in the wilderness of green,
Always shady and damp,
In a steep ravine under the mountain
A cold spring gushes out of the stones:

It boils, plays and hurries,
Spinning in crystal clubs,
And under the branchy oaks
It runs like molten glass.

And the heavens and the mountain forest
They look, thinking in silence,
Like pebbles in light moisture
Patterned mosaics tremble.

Ivan Bunin

***

Closing the distant fields like a haze for half an hour,
A sudden rain fell in slanting stripes -
And again the skies turn deep blue
Above the refreshed forests.

Warmth and dewy shine. They smelled like honey of rye,
In the sun the wheat shines like velvet,
And in the greenery of the branches, in the birch trees at the boundary,
The orioles chatter carelessly.

And the sonorous forest is cheerful, and the wind between the birches
It's already blowing gently, and the white birches
Drop a quiet rain of their diamond tears
And they smile through their tears.

Ivan Bunin

***

SUMMER

I'm lying in the meadow.
Not a gig in the sky.
Clouds float into the distance
Like a silent river.
And in the grass, on the ground,
On a flower, on a stem -
Singing and whistling everywhere,
And every leaf lives:
There's a fly and a beetle here,
And a green spider.
A bee has arrived
And she crawled into the flower.
There's a grasshopper's mustache
Cleans for beauty
And the ant groans
At work.
The furry bumblebee is buzzing
And he looks angrily
Where is the tallest flower?
Where is the honey tastier?
And the mosquito is a cannibal,
Like a friend or a neighbor,
As if you were visiting,
It flew into my sleeve.
It will sting and sing.
What! We must endure:
I will kill in the meadow
I can't do anyone.

Sergey Gorodetsky

***

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,
The heavens drive you into the calmed ones.

Alexander Pushkin

***

SUMMER EVENING

The evening day is languid and gentle.
Herds of cows shaking their sides
Accompanied by little helpers
They walk along the banks from afar.
The river, overflowing under the cliff,
Still as attractive to look at
And the sky is in a happy combination,
Having hugged her, he rejoices and burns.
Roses sculptured from the clouds
They curl up, worry, and suddenly,
Changing shapes and poses,
They are carried away to the west and south.

Nikolay Zabolotsky

***

IN SUMMER

Cherries and plums have turned brown,
The golden rye has poured,
And how the sea worries the fields,
And you can’t walk in the grass in the meadows.

The sun walks high above the vault
The skies are hot from the heat,
Linden smells like honey,
And the forest full of darkness rustles...

Nikolay Grekov

***

SUMMER EVENING

Already a hot ball of the sun
The earth rolled off its head,
And peaceful evening fire
The sea wave swallowed me up.

The bright stars have already risen
And gravitating over us
The vault of heaven has been lifted
With your wet heads.

The river of air is fuller
Flows between heaven and earth,
The chest breathes easier and more freely,
Freed from the heat.

And a sweet thrill, like a stream,
Nature ran through my veins,
How hot are her legs?
The spring waters have touched.

Fedor Tyutchev

***

GRANDFATHER TREE

At Grandfather Tree's
Good hands -
Large
green
kind hands...
Some kind of bird
He's fussing in his hands.
Some kind of bird
Sits on shoulders.
Grandfather Tree is so nice -
Squirrel shakes with a huge hand...
The bug rushed
And sat down
And swayed
And I admired everything
and I admired everything.
The dragonflies came rushing
And they rocked too.
And the midges came rushing,
And the midges swayed.
And all the waxwings
In a feather bed
Laughed, swayed,
They swayed and whistled!
Grandfather Tree picked up the bees
And he sat on his palms....
Grandfather Tree has kind hands -
Large
green
kind hands...
There are probably a hundred of them...
Or one hundred twenty-five...
To rock everyone!
To rock everyone!

Emma Moshkovskaya

***

MY GARDEN

How fresh and green my garden is!
The lilac blossomed in it;
From fragrant bird cherry
And from the curly linden trees the shadow...

True, there are no pale lilies in it,
Proud dahlias,
And only motley heads
The poppy alone exalts.

Yes, there is a sunflower at the entrance,
Like a faithful sentinel,
Guarding his own path,
All overgrown with grass...

But I love a modest kindergarten:
He is dearer to my soul
Dull city gardens
With a network of regular alleys.

And all day long, in the tall grass
Lying down, I would be glad to listen,
Like caring bees
The bird cherry trees are buzzing around...

Alexey Pleshcheev

***

AUGUST

The rays still burn under the arches of the roads,
But there, between the branches, everything is muffled and numb:
This is how the pale player smiles,
I no longer dare to count the blows of the lot.

It's already day behind the curtains. With fog on the ground
Slowly sad calls are drawn...
And with him everything is a stuffy feast, crushed in crystal
It's still yesterday's shine, and only the asters are alive...

Or is it a procession turning white through the sheets?
And there the lights tremble under the matte crown,
They tremble and say: “And you? When will you come?”
In the copper tongue of the languor of a funeral...

Has the game ended, has the tomb floated away?
But impressions become clearer in the heart;
Oh, how I understood you: and the insinuating warmth,
And the luxury of flower beds, where decay appears...

Innocent Annensky

***

AUGUST

Sonnet

How clear August is, gentle and calm,
Realizing the fleeting nature of beauty.
Gilding the wood sheets
He put his feelings in order.

In it, the sultry afternoon seems like a mistake, -
Sad dreams are more akin to him,
Coolness, the beauty of quiet simplicity
And rest from a hectic life.

For the last time, before the edge of the sickle,
The pouring ears are showing off,
Instead of flowers, there are fruits of the earth everywhere.

The sight of a heavy sheaf is pleasing,
And a crowd of cranes is flying in the sky
And with a cry he sends “sorry” to his native places.

Konstantin Balmont

***

FREE STARLING

Skvorushka, skvorushka! Look how magnificent it is
The tree has hung its flexible branches!
The sun sparkles on the leaves and you can hear
How they whisper cheerfully to each other.

Why are you sitting there so prim and proper?
Why aren’t you flying, why aren’t you frolicking, little bird?
The tail is short, but the nose is long,
The legs are tall and have motley feathers.

You jump onto a branch and jump back;
You look lazily at the green leaves;
You don’t sing, but mumble inaudibly,
As if half asleep, the words were memorized.

You are worthy of surprise, bird;
These birds have never been seen in the wild;
Something very meek and decent -
In a cage, to know, fed, raised in a cage.

Skvorushka, skvorushka, you're out of habit
You feel melancholy and deprivation in freedom;
You're not like all the other birds,
Strong-willed right from birth.

Look how they play! High, high
A discordant flock of them flutters in the sky;
In the field, in the forest, far beyond the river
A ringing discord is heard.

And the moisture kissed by them
Like a girl half asleep in the evening,
It barely sways with its waves,
Not yet completely intoxicated.
She still seems indignant
And weakly pulls away, but she
Already in a dream, a premonition draws
The delight and flame of August days.

Alexey Zhemchuzhnikov

***

GOOD MORNING

The golden stars dozed off,
The mirror of the backwater trembled,
The light is dawning on the river backwaters
And blushes the sky grid.

The sleepy birch trees smiled,
Silk braids were disheveled.
Green earrings rustle
And the silver dews burn.

The fence is overgrown with nettles
Dressed in bright mother of pearl
And, swaying, whispers playfully:
"Good morning!"

Sergey Yesenin

***

CORNER

Be careful, don't break it
These silk threads.
The point is that I'm familiar
With this fast spider.

Leave your net at home;
Moth - he is my friend.
And this angry beetle -
My reliable old friend.

Don't fish in the river either.
There she is swimming, look
With a sharp red fin...
I know her very well.

A woodpecker drums loudly.
This woodpecker -
My friend.
And chirps often, often
Tit for me:
"Hello hello!"

And the birch tree is familiar to me,
And the grass
And clouds.
And another
None
I don't need a corner.

Genrikh Sapgir

***

MORNING ON THE LAKE SHORE

Clear morning. It blows quietly
Warm breeze;
The meadow turns green like velvet,
In the glow of the east.

Bordered by bushes
Young willows,
With colorful lights
The lake is sparkling.

The silence and the sun are happy,
Across the plain of waters
A tame flock of swans
Slowly swims.

Here one waved lazily
Wings - and suddenly
Moisture splashed playfully
Pearls all around...

Ivan Nikitin

***

MORNING SONG

Good morning - he will sleep!..
You see: the sun has risen...
And it's time for you to get up!
Look at the window:
Flowers are washed
Light dew...
Like flowers, so are you
Refresh yourself with water!
You see, the bee is drawing juice
From honey porridge...
Get drunk, my son,
Milk from a cup!
There he is dressed all over with foliage
Our garden is turning green...
Get dressed, my boy,
Also, hurry up!..
And run, run, play
In free will
And grow and blossom,
Like a flower in a field!

G. Galina

***

FLOWER

Breathes over the sleeping cornfield
Light wind;
He caresses, he sways
Wild flower.
And a flower from tender caress
The wind is shaking,
And deep, serene
Sleep beckons him.
It's nice for a flower to rest
In the silence of the night:
During the day he was fired mercilessly
Stifling summer heat.
The boogers were bothering me,
Swarming noisily;
And now, to the fragrant grass
Bow your crown,
He fell asleep. Burns with stars
Blue vault of heaven
Beyond the sleeping fields
The forest sleeps quietly;
Both the grass and the blade of grass are sleeping,
And from the breeze
Slightly shining, the dewdrop trembles
In the cup of a flower.

D. L. Mikhailovsky

***

HEAT

There is Heat in the middle of the courtyard,
It sits and roasts in the morning.
You climb into the depths of the yard -
And in the depths there is Heat.
It's time for the heat to go away,
But everyone is in spite of the Heat.
Today, tomorrow and yesterday
It's hot, hot, hot everywhere...
Well, isn't she lazy?
Standing in the sun all day?

Emma Bitsoeva

***

DURING THE HEAT

It was a lazy time -
Thirty degrees.
Heat.

All glades
Empty.
motionless
Pines,
Ate.

Flows slowly
River...
Where?
Where are the clouds?
They're probably sleeping
Behind the cliff.

The knitting needles are dozing
On wheels
My bike.
I'm sitting in the shadows
I'm not going...

Only the sun
Shines brightly.
The sun is visible
It's not hot!

N. Yurkova

***

IN SUMMER

Swallow's wings flutter
Silver in the sun;
The meadows are filled with flowers,
The forests are noisy all around.

How the swallows welcome the sun,
How high they soared!
Rings them with a cry of joy
All the blue heights.

The fields are spread out all around, -
There is no end in sight for them.
The rye has risen, is worried, -
Space and grace!

Ivan Belousov

***

IN THE FOREST

Turn red in the sun
Pine trunks,
Spreads everywhere
Smell of resin;
And white lilies of the valley
The brushes are hanging;
How thin and tender
Their scent.
I'm walking through the forest,
I sing a song
And the pine trees listen
My song.
Through the thick branches
The sun is looking;
Chaffinch in response to me
The song rings...

Ivan Belousov

***

Grandfather Fog
Forest in your pocket
Fields - in your pocket
Hid it
Grandfather Fog.

Hid it
Haystacks and haystacks,
And lawns
And meadows.

Even Sunny
In pocket
Hid it
Grandfather Fog.

Only he completely forgot
What's a pocket
It was full of holes.

Beyond the river
Climbed up the mountain -
Lost
Fields and forest.

Lost it later
Meadows,
Bales of hay
And haystacks.

At the high mound,
Where I dozed
Smoke from the fire,
From a holey pocket
The sun is out
Same.

Alexander Ekimtsev

***

On a blade of grass -
Dewdrop beads,
Illuminated by the sun:
Reds,
Greens,
yellow,
And blue -
How beautiful!..

How many of them are there at the gate!
The entire meadow is strewn with them.
I would like to string them on threads -
There are enough of them for all your friends!

And while I was dreaming so much,
The sun collected the beads.
Even in the grass under the pine tree
There's not one left!

Ivan Emelyanov

***

CHAMOMILES

Elegant dresses,
Yellow brooches,
There's not a speck
On beautiful clothes.

So funny
These daisies -
They're about to start playing
Like children playing tag.

Ekaterina Serova

***

SUMMER SONG

Summer is laughing again
Out the open window
And sunshine and light
Full, full!
Panties and T-shirts again
Lying on the shore
And the lawns bask
In chamomile snow!

Timofey Belozerov

***

IN THE FOREST

A lot in the forest
Blueberries; I'll tear it down
To my mom.
Here's another bump.
I'm not afraid!
Is there a mushroom?
Well, I'll bend over.
And over there on the Christmas tree
Woodpecker sits
There are cracks in the tree
It's important.
Apparently for dinner
He needs a beetle
With a mustache.

Sergey Gorodetsky

***

TRUCK

Brook, trickle,
You go like a thread.
The sand glitters beneath you.
You are cheerful, even if you are shallow.
Brook, trickle,
You go away and eat.
Bees hover between the stems,
A furry bumblebee will buzz.
You run faster, faster.
Suddenly bondage among the stones -
Foaming louder, more fun,
You will murmur: “stranded, stranded, stranded!”
You are not wide, little stream,
You are shallow, so what!
Brook, trickle,
You run and you eat!

Konstantin Balmont

***

ON A HOT DAY

The field is sunny and quiet
The hot day dries the earth.
Buckwheat became thoughtful,
Barley hung his head.
And they don’t see what’s above the forest
The cloud rose like a mountain,
That their sadness will soon, soon
The rain will dispel the mischief.

Georgy Ladonshchikov

***

HAPPY SUMMER

Summer, summer has come to us!
It became dry and warm.

Along the path
Straight ahead
Legs are walking
Barefoot.
The bees are circling
Birds are flying,
And Marinka
Having fun.

I saw a rooster:
- What a miracle! Ha ha ha!
Amazing rooster:
Feathers on top, fluff below!

I saw a piglet
The girl smiles:
-Who runs from a chicken?
The whole street is screaming,
Instead of a tail there is a hook,
Instead of a nose there is a snout,
Piglet
Leaky,
Is the hook swivel?

And Barbos,
Ginger dog,
Made her laugh to tears.
He's not running after the cat,
And behind your own tail.
The sly tail curls,
Can't be punched in the teeth.
The dog waddles sadly,
Because he's tired.
The tail wags merrily:
"I didn't get it! I didn't get it!"

Summer, summer has come to us!
It became dry and warm.
Along the path
Straight ahead
Legs are walking
Barefoot.

Valentin Berestov

***

HOW WE SPENT THE TIME

We walked, sunbathed,
They played near the lake.
They sat on the bench,
We ate two cutlets.
They brought the frog
And they grew up a little.

Eduard Uspensky

ABOUT THE SWING

Under spreading spruce trees
On a fun swing
Let's run quickly!
We'll jump and laugh
Let's have fun swinging
In the silence of the branches.
It’s cool there even in the heat;
Spruce, friendly and elegant,
He calls us to his place.
Let's run a race
Here's to that thin birch tree!
Who's the fastest?
Let's swing quickly
And above the patterned branch
Let's fly high.
Under spreading spruce trees
On a fun swing
Let's run quickly!

Nikolay Ashukin

***

LARK

Quietly early sometimes
After a warm night...
All of a sudden -
Over your head
Above the collective farm land
rang
The bell rings!

All in streams of light,
In the bluish haze,
Warmed by the sun,
Small,
Winged!

Rises to the zenith
And - it rings, rings, rings!
Became no bigger than a dot
Field call!

Ivan Demyanov

***

IN JULY

Barley is ripe in the fields.
He makes me happy!
I wander all day
On the waves of barley.

July laughs at me
The fields nod to me.
And the cloud is like tulle,
And the sun burns, scorching.

I've been wandering all day
In the dry waves of the earth,
While the night shadow
Will not darken the stems.

I'll go down to the river and take a look
On the muddy atlas;
Will he get sad, well,
Well, sadness from the eyes.

Should I be sad now?
When is the barley ripe?
I'll kiss everyone
I would like to on this day!

Igor Severyanin

***

RUSHING

You will not know,
You won't understand
These are the waves
Or rye.

This is a forest
Or reeds
Or from heaven
Silence flows.

Or someone
Sharpening a knife.
You will not know,
You won't understand.

Konstantin Balmont

***

MORNING

The meadow is buttoned up for all the dewdrops.
Silently a ray made its way to them,
Collected dewdrops into a web
And hid it somewhere between the clouds.

G. Novitskaya

***

The summer evening is calm and clear;
Look how the willows sleep;
The western sky is pale red,
And the rivers sparkle with their twists and turns.

Sliding from peaks to peaks,
The wind creeps through the forest heights.
Do you hear neighing in the valleys?
The herd is trotting.

Afanasy Fet

Great ones about poetry:

Poetry is like painting: some works will captivate you more if you look at them closely, and others if you move further away.

Small cutesy poems irritate the nerves more than the creaking of unoiled wheels.

The most valuable thing in life and in poetry is what has gone wrong.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Of all the arts, poetry is the most susceptible to the temptation to replace its own peculiar beauty with stolen splendors.

Humboldt V.

Poems are successful if they are created with spiritual clarity.

The writing of poetry is closer to worship than is usually believed.

If only you knew from what rubbish poems grow without shame... Like a dandelion on a fence, like burdocks and quinoa.

A. A. Akhmatova

Poetry is not only in verses: it is poured out everywhere, it is all around us. Look at these trees, at this sky - beauty and life emanate from everywhere, and where there is beauty and life, there is poetry.

I. S. Turgenev

For many people, writing poetry is a growing pain of the mind.

G. Lichtenberg

A beautiful verse is like a bow drawn through the sonorous fibers of our being. The poet makes our thoughts sing within us, not our own. By telling us about the woman he loves, he delightfully awakens in our souls our love and our sorrow. He's a magician. By understanding him, we become poets like him.

Where graceful poetry flows, there is no room for vanity.

Murasaki Shikibu

I turn to Russian versification. I think that over time we will turn to blank verse. There are too few rhymes in the Russian language. One calls the other. The flame inevitably drags the stone behind it. It is through feeling that art certainly emerges. Who is not tired of love and blood, difficult and wonderful, faithful and hypocritical, and so on.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

-...Are your poems good, tell me yourself?
- Monstrous! – Ivan suddenly said boldly and frankly.
- Do not write anymore! – the newcomer asked pleadingly.
- I promise and swear! - Ivan said solemnly...

Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov. "Master and Margarita"

We all write poetry; poets differ from others only in that they write in their words.

John Fowles. "The French Lieutenant's Mistress"

Every poem is a veil stretched over the edges of a few words. These words shine like stars, and because of them the poem exists.

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok

Ancient poets, unlike modern ones, rarely wrote more than a dozen poems during their long lives. This is understandable: they were all excellent magicians and did not like to waste themselves on trifles. Therefore, behind every poetic work of those times there is certainly hidden an entire Universe, filled with miracles - often dangerous for those who carelessly awaken the dozing lines.

Max Fry. "Chatty Dead"

I gave one of my clumsy hippopotamuses this heavenly tail:...

Mayakovsky! Your poems do not warm, do not excite, do not infect!
- My poems are not a stove, not a sea, and not a plague!

Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky

Poems are our inner music, clothed in words, permeated with thin strings of meanings and dreams, and therefore, drive away the critics. They are just pathetic sippers of poetry. What can a critic say about the depths of your soul? Don't let his vulgar groping hands in there. Let poetry seem to him like an absurd moo, a chaotic pile-up of words. For us, this is a song of freedom from a boring mind, a glorious song sounding on the snow-white slopes of our amazing soul.

Boris Krieger. "A Thousand Lives"

Poems are the thrill of the heart, the excitement of the soul and tears. And tears are nothing more than pure poetry that has rejected the word.