Lark
In the sun the dark forest glowed,
In the valley thin steam whitens,
And he sang an early song
In the azure the lark is ringing.
It’s so easy for me here, so welcoming,
So limitless, so airy;
I see God's whole world here.
And my song praises God!
V.A. Zhukovsky
Country song (excerpt)
The grass is turning green
The sun is shining;
Swallow with spring
It flies towards us in the canopy.
With her the sun is more beautiful
And spring is sweeter...
Chirp out of the way
Greetings to us soon!
I'll give you some grains
And you sing a song,
What from distant countries
I brought with me...
A.N. Pleshcheev
First thunder
The first thunder thundered
The cloud has passed
The pure moisture of the rain
The grass is drunk.
Covered the entire distance
Rainbow arc,
A ray of sunshine splashed
Bright above the ground.
S.D. Drozhzhin
The snow is already melting, the streams are flowing...
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
gone for a long time again...
A.N. Pleshcheev
Spring thunderstorm
I love the storm in early 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 din of the forest and the noise of the mountains -
Everything cheerfully echoes the thunder.
You will say: windy Hebe,
Feeding Zeus's eagle,
A thunderous goblet from the sky,
Laughing, she spilled it on the ground.
F.I. Tyutchev
The willow is all fluffy...
The willow is all fluffy
Spread out all around;
It's fragrant spring again
She blew her wing.
The clouds are rushing around the village,
Warmly illuminated
And they ask for your soul again
Captivating dreams.
Diverse everywhere
The gaze is occupied by the picture,
The idle crowd makes noise
People are happy about something...
Some secret thirst
The dream is inflamed -
And over every soul
Spring is flying by.
A.A. Fet
Spring waters
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.
F.I. Tyutchev
The wind brought from afar...
The wind brought from afar
Songs of spring hint,
Somewhere light and deep
A piece of sky opened up.
In this bottomless azure,
In the twilight of near spring
The winter storms cried
Starry dreams were flying.
Shy, dark and deep
My strings were crying.
The wind brought from afar
Your sonorous songs.
A.A.Blok
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.
E. Baratynsky
Spring
No wonder winter is angry,
Its time has passed -
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.
And everything started to fuss,
Everything is forcing winter 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 in the snow
And only became blusher
Against the enemy.
F. Tyutchev
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 sky blue
The sun became warmer and brighter,
It's time for evil blizzards and storms
It's gone for a long time again.
And my heart is so strong in my chest
It knocks as if it's waiting for something...
As if happiness is ahead
And winter took away your worries!
All faces look cheerful.
"Spring!" - you read in every glance;
And so, like a holiday, I’m happy about her,
Whose life is only toil and sorrow.
But the playful children have loud laughter
And carefree birds singing
They tell me who is the most
Nature loves renewal!
K.S. Aksakov
Spring
Go away, gray winter!
Already the beauties of Spring
Golden chariot
Rushing from the highest heights!
Should I argue with the old one, the frail one?
With her - the queen of flowers,
With a whole air army
Fragrant breezes!
What noise, what buzzing,
Warm showers and rays,
And chirping and singing!..
Go away quickly!
She has no bow, no arrows,
I just smiled - and you,
Picking up your white shroud,
She crawled into the ravine, into the bushes!..
May they be found in the ravines!
There are swarms of bees making noise,
And flies the victorious flag
Squad of motley butterflies!
Apollo Maykov
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.
S. Yesenin
Heavy rain in the green forest...
Heavy rain in the green forest
I rustled through the slender maples,
By forest flowers...
Do you hear? - The song flows loudly,
Carefree is heard
Voice through the forests.
Heavy rain in the green forest
I rustled through the slender maples,
The depths of heaven are clear...
In every heart arises, -
Both torments and captivates
Your image, Spring!
O golden hopes!
The groves are dark and dense
You were deceived...
The voice is gentle and inviting!
You sounded like a wondrous song -
And faded away into the distance!
I.A. Bunin
The last snow in the field is melting....
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;
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...
A.K. Tolstoy
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
Spring
Blue, clean
Snowdrop flower!
And next to it is a drafty one,
The last snowball...
Last tears
About the grief of the past
And the first dreams
About other happiness.
Apollo Maykov
The arrival of spring
The greenery of the fields, the babbling of the groves,
There is a thrill in the sky of the lark,
Warm rain, sparkling waters, -
Having named you, what should I add?
How else can I glorify you?
Life of the soul, spring is coming?
V. Zhukovsky
Russian spring
The birch trees are boring in the hollows,
Foggy haze in the fields,
Soggy horse manure
The road turns black in the fog.
In a sleepy steppe village
Smelling breads are baked.
Slowly two beggars
They wander through the village.
There, in the middle of the street, there are puddles,
Ash and spring dirt,
There is a fumes in the huts, and outside
The rubble is smoldering and smoking.
Squinting, he sits by the barn
Shepherd on a rusty chain.
The huts are dark from fumes.
Foggy and quiet - in the steppe.
Only the cock is carefree
He sings of spring all day long.
It's warm and drowsy in the field,
And there is happy laziness in the heart.
I. Bunin
Snowdrop
Together with the first scarlet dawns
In a clearing in the forest thicket,
By the birches, between the melted snowdrifts,
A blue flower blossomed.
He remembers how, in the languid cold,
Shackled the meadows for a long time,
The sun's ray is golden and life-giving
Melted the snow in the clearings.
Before this victorious force
The streams rustled in the valleys,
And with a tender and pale smile
He unfurled his petals.
And we are excited by sweet hope,
Hiding at the foot of the roots,
He waits half timidly, half joyfully
These clear rays of the sun...
Olga Chyumina
After the thunderstorm
The pink west is cooling down,
The night is wet with rain.
It smells like birch bud,
Wet crushed stone and sand.
A thunderstorm swept over the grove,
Fog rose from the plains.
And the skinny leaves tremble
The darkness of the frightened peaks.
The spring midnight sleeps and wanders,
Breathing timid cold.
After the storms, spring is more sinless,
Like a soul in love.
Her life was reflected in a flash,
The time has come for her to love.
Laughed, burst into tears
And she was silent until the morning!..
K. Fofanov
Spring day
Dear K. M. Fofanov
The spring day is hot and golden, -
The whole city is blinded by the sun!
I am again - I am: I am young again!
I'm cheerful and in love again!
The soul sings and rushes into the field,
I call all strangers by “you”...
What space! What a will!
What songs and flowers!
Hurry up - in a chaise over potholes!
Hurry to the young meadows!
Look into the faces of ruddy women,
Like a friend, kiss an enemy!
Make noise, spring oak groves!
Grow, grass! Bloom, lilac!
There is no one to blame: all people are right
On such a blessed day!
I. Severyanin
***
The cold winter will pass,
The days of spring will come,
The sun will melt with warmth,
The snow is fluffy like wax.
Emerald leaves
The forests will turn green,
And together with the velvet grass
Fragrant flowers will spring up.
S. D. Drozhzhin.
The proximity of spring
There is silence in the sky;
Mysteriously the moon
Shines through the thin steam;
The love star plays
Over the dark mountain;
And in the abyss blue
Ethereal, flying,
Charming, reviving
Silence of the night
Welcome spring.
V. Zhukovsky
The singing of a lark is louder,
Brighter spring flowers
My heart is full of inspiration
The sky is full of beauty.
Breaking the shackles of melancholy,
Breaking the vulgar chains
New life rushes in
Triumphant tide.
And it sounds fresh and young
A mighty formation of new forces,
Like taut strings
Between heaven and earth.
A. K. Tolstoy
***
Sounds in the mountains, welcoming spring,
Ruchev's speech is intermittent;
Milkweed stems along the shale
They stand in rows of white candles.
And in the damp, mossy glades
Among the leaves rotted over the winter -
Deaf thickets of leafless
Lilac-smoky bushes.
And the branches reach out into the open spaces,
Praying for the Introduction of Spring,
Like the seven-branched candlestick on which
The lights haven't been lit yet.
M. Voloshin
***
More fragrant spring bliss
She didn’t have time to come down to us,
The ravines are still full of snow,
Even before dawn the cart rattles
On a frozen path;
The sun barely warms at noon,
The linden tree turns red in height.
Through, the birch tree turns a little yellow,
And the nightingale does not dare yet
Sing in a currant bush.
But the news of rebirth is alive
Already in the migratory cranes,
And, following them with my eyes,
The beauty of the steppe is standing
With a bluish blush on her cheeks.
A. Fet
***
From the novel "Eugene Onegin" (excerpt)
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 blue and shining.
Still transparent, forests
It's like they're turning green.
Bee for field tribute
Flies from a wax cell.
The valleys are conscious and colorful;
The strada is noisy and the nightingale
Already singing in the silence of the night.
A. S. Pushkin
***
Hides the month behind barns
Yellow face from the blazing sun.
High above the meadows
There is a glow in the east.
The dawn is misty with foam,
Like the depth of the bride's eyes.
Spring has arrived like a wanderer,
With a staff in birch bark bast shoes.
On the birch trees in the shady grove
Hung up ringing earrings
And with dawn into the lilac garden
She fluttered cheerfully like a moth.
S. Yesenin
Spring motive
Soon, soon from dead cold shackles
The young spring will tear out the forest,
And gray hair will fall from the branches
Defeated by the rays of snow...
Soon, soon, laughing, the streams will run away
To the wide green space,
And the earth will spread a multi-colored carpet,
And the nightingales will sing in the bushes...
Soon, soon fragrant bird cherry flowers
They will turn white in the garden...
And I will go towards spring with hope
To the kingdom of sun, warmth and dreams!
Glafira Galina
Pine
Lost among the rocks, alone on the cliff,
The pine tree is quietly dozing, bending its top,
Drowned waist-deep in deep snow;
The white frost of winter lay on the flexible branches.
The pine tree sleeps sadly in its robe
Among the gloomy stones and silence all around,
And it has not yet reached her ears,
That the fields below were full of flowers;
Loud talk and hum of the awakened earth
We haven't reached the gorge yet.
The pine tree sleeps quietly, but among the stone steeps
Once a hot ray of sunshine broke through,
Played, illuminated... And the pine tree woke up
From deep, winter, long sleep,
And towards the beam, with the caress of tender love,
She stretched out her frozen branches...
Tikhon Lvov
Before spring
The snow is still on the roofs,
Sparkling with bright whiteness,
And already in the air by noon
Resounds in the spring...
So everything is drawn to the sun
Go to where it melts
Where it's bright with light frost
The sun is burning your cheeks.
And you go - you walk and breathe
The sharp air is more free,
And at a glance, all the faces seem
Somehow better and kinder;
And you walk - and your ears tickle -
Like the sounds of children's bliss -
The ringing rustle of playful drops
Fragile melting snow.
Vsevolod Krestovsky
Spring! the first frame is exposed -
And noise burst into the room,
And the gospel of the nearby temple,
And the talk of the people, and the sound of the wheel.
Life and will breathed into my soul:
bVon - the blue distance is visible...
And I want to go to the field, to the wide field,
Where, walking, spring showers flowers!
A. Maikov
Spring Kingdom(excerpt)
The kingdom has returned spring days:
The stream rings over the pebbles,
The river is noisy
And with a cry a flock of cranes
It's already flying towards us.
The forests smell like resin,
Blushing petal buds
Suddenly sighed
And millions of flowers
The meadow was covered.
Spiridon Drozhzhin
Spring
Songs of the larks again
They rang in the heights.
“Dear guest, great!”—
They say spring.
The sun is already warming,
The skies have become more beautiful...
Soon everything will turn green -
Steppes, groves and forests.
The poor man will forget his grief,
The old man's soul will blossom...
In every heart, in every look
Joy will flare up at least for a moment.
The plowman will come out onto the road,
Looks around cheerfully;
Praying earnestly to God,
Will cheerfully take to the plow.
With a meek heart, with strong faith,
He will devote himself entirely to labor -
And the Lord will send abundant
Harvest his fields!
A. Pleshcheev
***
The snow is melting, the snow is running in streams,
Streams gurgle, ring, sing;
Sparkle and sparkle in the sun
Spring-born streams...
Run fast, hurry up
From the kingdom of cold and sleep
There, where there are no proud buildings,
No gloomy prisons, no hospitals,
Where there are no petrified hearts,
No faces darkened by life!
In the wide fields, in the valleys -
To other awakened streams,
To other streams born in the spring,
To freedom, to the sun and to flowers!
Apollo of Corinth
Oh, spring without end and without edge -
An endless and endless dream!
I recognize you, life! I accept!
And I greet you with the ringing of the shield!
I accept you, failure,
And good luck, my greetings to you!
In the enchanted area of crying,
There is no shame in the secret of laughter!
I accept sleepless arguments,
Morning in the curtains of dark windows,
So that my inflamed eyes
Spring was annoying and intoxicating!
I accept desert weights!
And the wells of earthly cities!
The illuminated expanse of the skies
And the languor of slave labor!
And I meet you at the doorstep -
With a wild wind in snake curls,
With an unsolved name of god
On cold and compressed lips...
Before this hostile meeting
I will never give up my shield...
You will never open your shoulders...
But above us is a drunken dream!
And I look and measure the enmity,
Hating, cursing and loving:
For torment, for death - I know -
All the same: I accept you!
A. Blok
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...
E. Baratynsky
***
Don't frighten me with a thunderstorm:
Happy is the roar of spring storms!
After the storm over the earth
The azure shines more joyfully,
After the storm, growing younger,
In the brilliance of new beauty,
More fragrant and more magnificent
Flowers are blooming!
But bad weather frightens me:
It's bittersweet to think that it will pass
Life without grief and without happiness,
In the bustle of daytime worries,
That the lives of strength will fade
Without struggle and without labor,
That damp fog is sad
The sun will hide forever!
Ivan Bunin
Spring evening
Golden clouds are walking
Above the resting earth;
The fields are spacious, silent
They shine, drenched in dew;
The stream gurgles in the darkness of the valley,
Spring thunder roars in the distance,
Lazy wind in aspen leaves
Trembling with a caught wing.
The tall forest is silent and dim,
The green, dark forest is silent.
Only sometimes in the deep shadow
The sleepless leaf will rustle.
The star trembles in the lights of the sunset,
Love's beautiful star
And my soul is light and holy,
It’s easy, like in childhood.
Ivan Turgenev
The bird cherry tree is pouring snow,
Greenery in bloom and dew.
In the field, leaning towards escape,
Rooks walk in the strip.
Silk herbs will disappear,
Smells like resinous pine.
Oh, you meadows and oak groves,—
I'm besotted with spring.
Rainbow secret news
Shine into my soul.
I'm thinking about the bride
I only sing about her.
Rash you, bird cherry, with snow,
Sing, you birds, in the forest.
Unsteady run across the field
I will spread the color with foam.
S. Yesenin
***
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 myself don’t know what I will
Sing - but only the song is ripening.
A. Fet
In May
I'll walk through the forests
There are many birds there;
Everyone flutters, sings,
Warm nests are built.
I'll be in the forest
There I will find bees:
And they make noise and buzz,
And they are in a hurry to work.
I'll walk through the meadows
There are moths there:
How beautiful they are
These May days.
A. Maikov
***
The buds have blossomed, the forest has begun to stir,
The bright rays made him all rich.
On its outskirts of fragrant grass
A silver lily of the valley looked out into the sun.
And they opened meekly from the spring caress
Sweet forget-me-not blue eyes.
Spiridon Drozhzhin
Spring
The air breathes above spring
It's getting warmer day by day;
The dawns became brighter in the morning,
The sky is lighter.
The sun rises over the earth,
Every day it gets higher
And all day long they circle and coo
Pigeons on the roof.
So the willow has dressed up
In white earrings,
And children play near the huts.
Have fun, little ones!
Glad for the sunshine
Children are glad to have their will,
And now they are in a stuffy house
You won't be able to hold it anymore.
So the ice on the river cracked,
The river began to rustle
And throw off the shackles of winter
Resets boldly;
Digs steep banks,
Spread widely...
The splash and sound of stormy water
Heard from afar.
A cloud ran into the sky,
A light rain is falling...
The grass appeared in the field,
The field is turning green.
On the blizzard, on the willows
The buds have expanded
And they look like gold
Light leaves.
So the forest is dressed, songs
The birds started ringing.
Flower heads above the grass
They were brightly colored.
Spring is a good queen,
Dressed in a colored raincoat!
There's a lot in the air
And warmth and light...
Ivan Surikov
Spiridon Dmitrievich Drozhzhin
Spiridon Dmitrievich Drozhzhin was born in the village of Nizovka, Tver province. He spoke very well about his life himself, when he became a writer, in his poems and in his autobiography.
A little boy from a poor peasant family, he ran with the children along the banks of the Volga, went into the forest to pick mushrooms and berries, and enjoyed the sun and flowers. In winter, when it was cold, I was freezing in poor clothes. Here he goes for the first time with his mother to school to the sexton, stands timidly at the door, and the sexton examines him and then puts him in the last row, where the poorest students sit. On long winter evenings he lies on the stove in his grandmother’s hut, watches the girls spin yarn, listens to songs, fairy tales, and stories of some passers-by. What he liked most was the songs. And later he recalled more than once how often he would quietly run away from everyone to the garden and, sitting under the spreading bird cherry tree, would compose and sing his fairy tale songs.
Drozhzhin spent only two winters at school. When he was twelve years old, his parents sent him to work in St. Petersburg. He entered the tavern as a “boy” - he served visitors, washed dishes and floors.
Years passed. Drozhzhin changed many professions, lived in different cities, and was always very poor. He did not have to study further, but he read a lot, fell in love with the poems of Pushkin, Lermontov, Koltsov, Nikitin and especially Nekrasov.
After several years of living in the city, Drozhzhin returned to his native village forever. In his free moments from hard peasant labor, he wrote his songs and poems. Drozhzhin tried to write in such a way that the poems were similar to folk songs, so that they were understandable to everyone.
His first poem, “Song about the grief of a good fellow,” appeared in print when Drozhzhin was twenty-five years old. By this time, he met and became friends with writers who helped him publish his first collection of poems. What was he writing about? He himself said it best in one of his poems:
I am for a soulful song
Took the green forests whispering,
And the Volga has a mid-day heat
The dark streams were overheard by a murmur;
I took the bad weather from autumn,
I took the people's happiness
And deep suffering...
IN last years In his life, the peasant poet joyfully welcomed the Great October Socialist Revolution. Drozhzhin began writing new songs:
Centuries of evil bondage have passed
Great people
And long-awaited freedom
From the darkness to a clear dawn
Rising above the Russian land.
HELLO
Hello no to you, my native land,
With your dark forests,
With your great river
And endless fields!
Hello to you, dear people,
Tireless hero of labor
In the middle of winter and summer heat!
Hello to you, my native land!
FIRST FURROW
The grandson went out to his grandfather's arable land
In a shirt, barefoot.
He smiled and said:
Hello, grandfather Pakhom!
I see you are tired,
Teach me how to plow
As it used to be in the hut in winter,
Well, if you want, if you want
And there is a strong man in his hands,
Learn, be a helper
Old grandfather is at work! -
And Groin to the plow with love
He took his grandson by the hand;
Grandson quietly plows
I went after the horse...
Cheerful, fun horse
Comes forward
But the plowman has a heart
It's jumping in my chest.
“Here,” he thinks, “I’ll plow
This strip, then
Grandfather will sow from the koshnitsa
Its golden grain;
The rye will be thick;
And in the spring - grace,
How she will begin at dawn
Pour the yellow ear;
Cleaned up with cornflowers
Like the sea, it will rustle,
The reapers will come out to strip,
The sickle will sparkle in the sun.
We'll arrive by cart
And from the bound sheaves
We'll plan a lot on the threshing floor
Stacks of gold then!”
Long distance for grandson
The gray-haired grandfather looks
And admires deeply
By a furrow.
IN A PEASANT FAMILY
Golden childhood
It's sad you're gone!
My dear one is in front of me,
Nice village.
Waiting for summer
With rye and grass,
It's asleep, it's dressed
Snowy shroud.
It's sad because of the clouds
The sun is looking
The wind is light-winged
It makes a pitiful noise.
Walking the street
Santa Claus,
Frost is scattering
Along the branches of birch trees;
Walks with a beard
White is shaking,
Stomping his foot
There's only a crackling sound
Or breathes on the windows
Smoky huts
Yes, he writes patterns,
Looking at the guys...
Here is my dear hut
In that village stands;
Sick on the stove
Grandma is lying down
He groans, he sighs,
Keeping sadness in my heart;
Midnight is coming
No fire in sight.
Grandmother in distress
From the evening without sleep:
ABOUT native son
She thinks.
SPRING KINGDOM
The kingdom of spring days has returned:
The stream rings over the pebbles,
The river is noisy
And with a cry a flock of cranes
It's already flying towards us.
The forests smell like resin,
Blushing petal buds
Suddenly sighed
And millions of flowers
The meadow was covered.
It's a wonderful time!
A mountain has been lifted from my shoulders
Of oppressive troubles,
I'm going to work from the yard
I'm going faster than the light.
Iron furrows the earth,
And the sun looks cheerfully
In the light of day
And everything caresses and lives
Around me.
A black beetle crawls out of a hole,
And weaves a transparent network
Get yourself a spider,
A bee flies and makes
Long sound.
On a blooming flower
sits down moth moth,
Swinging in it
Until the breeze touches
His wing.
Fun horse
It goes, and the sun is behind the mountain
Ending the day
Already throwing over the ground
Night shadow.
It's time to rest! In the villages
The lights came on in the sky
The moon has risen
Peace in the plowed fields
And silence.
IN DROUGHT
Sadness and boredom have overcome,
The unbearable heat torments me,
Yesterday one village burned down,
Today the forest is on fire!
The waters on the Volga are knee-deep,
The steamer no longer whistles,
The hay has long been removed from the fields,
And the harvest comes.
My neighbor walks around worried:
There is no hope for the harvest,
The rent for the whole year is not good,
At least lie down in a coffin and die!
His owner is unwell
And the child asks for bread;
For the debt the last cow
The fist leads him out of the yard.
The poor man looks with sad eyes
Around me, I'm a little alive,
And to the fist with a silent reproach
Afterwards he shakes his head.
The shadows of the evening are deepening,
The air is humid and fragrant,
And washes himself with dew
Every leaf on the trees.
The birds hid in their nests,
And river banks,
Flickering slightly, they lit up
There are lights around the village.
