Poems by Russian classics about winter. Quotes about winter Winter in Russian poetry

Sergey Yesenin

I'm going. Quiet. Ringing sounds are heard.
Under the hoof in the snow,
Only gray crows
They made noise in the meadow.

Bewitched by the invisible
The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep,
Like a white scarf
The pine tree has tied up.

Bent over like an old lady
Leaned on a stick
And above the very top of your head
A woodpecker is hitting a branch.

The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space,
The snow is falling and the shawl is laying down.
Endless road
Runs away like a ribbon into the distance.

Blank verses

Sergey Mikhalkov

The snow is spinning
The snow is falling -
Snow! Snow! Snow!
The beast and the bird are glad to see the snow
And, of course, a man!

Happy gray tits:
Birds are freezing in the cold,
Snow fell - frost fell!
The cat washes its nose with snow.
The puppy has a black back
White snowflakes are melting.

The sidewalks are covered in snow,
Everything around is white and white:
Snow-snow-snowfall!
Enough work for shovels,
For shovels and scrapers,
For large trucks.

The snow is spinning
The snow is falling -
Snow! Snow! Snow!
The beast and the bird are glad to see the snow
And, of course, a man!

Only the janitor, only the janitor
He says: - I am this Tuesday
I will never forget!
Snowfall is a disaster for us!
The scraper scrapes all day long,
The broom sweeps all day long.
A hundred sweats left me,
And everything is white again!
Snow! Snow! Snow!

The winter sorceress is coming...

Alexander Pushkin

The winter sorceress is coming,
Came, crumbled into shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees,
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields around the hills.
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
The frost has flashed, and we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter.

Winter night

Boris Pasternak

The day cannot be corrected by the efforts of the luminaries,
Do not lift the shadows of Epiphany veils.
It's winter on earth, and the smoke of the fires is powerless
Straighten the houses that lay flat.

Rolls of lanterns and crumpets of roofs, and black
White in the snow - the doorframe of the mansion:
This is a manor's house, and I am its tutor.
I am alone - I sent the student to bed.

They are not waiting for anyone. But - keep the curtain tight.
The sidewalk is bumpy, the porch is swept away.
Memory, don't worry! Grow together with me! Believe!
And assure me that I am one with you.

Are you talking about her again? But that's not what I'm excited about.
Who revealed the dates to her, who put her on the trail?
That blow is the source of everything. Until the rest,
By her grace, now I don't care.

The sidewalk is in the hillocks. Between the snow ruins
Frozen bottles of bare black ice.
Buns of lanterns. and on the trumpet, like an owl,
Drowned in feathers, unsociable smoke.

December morning

Fedor Tyutchev

There is a month in the sky - and night
The shadow has not yet moved,
Reigns over himself without realizing it
That the day has already started up, -

Which is at least lazy and timid
Beam appears after ray,
And the sky is still completely
At night it shines with triumph.

But two or three moments will not pass,
The night will evaporate over the earth,
And in the full splendor of manifestations
Suddenly the world of daytime will embrace us...

Winter road

A.S. Pushkin

Through the wavy mists
The moon creeps in
To the sad meadows
She sheds a sad light.
On the winter, boring road
Three greyhounds are running,
Single bell
It rattles tiresomely.
Something sounds familiar
In the coachman's long songs:
That reckless revelry
That heartbreak......
No fire, no black house,
Wilderness and snow.... To meet me
Only miles are striped
They come across one...
Bored, sad..... tomorrow, Nina,
Returning to my dear tomorrow,
I'll forget myself by the fireplace,
I'll take a look without looking at it.
The hour hand sounds loud
He will make his measuring circle,
And, removing the annoying ones,
Midnight will not separate us.
It’s sad, Nina: my path is boring,
My driver fell silent from his doze,
The bell is monotonous,
The moon's face is clouded.

Winter night

Boris Pasternak

Chalk, chalk all over the earth
To all limits.
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.

Like a swarm of midges in summer
Flies into the flames
Flakes flew from the yard
To the window frame.

A snowstorm sculpted on the glass
Circles and arrows.
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.

To the illuminated ceiling
The shadows were falling
Crossing of arms, crossing of legs,
Crossing fates.

And two shoes fell
With a thud to the floor.
And wax with tears from the night light
It was dripping on my dress.

And everything was lost in the snowy darkness
Gray and white.
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.

There was a blow on the candle from the corner,
And the heat of temptation
Raised two wings like an angel
Crosswise.

It was snowy all month in February,
Every now and then
The candle was burning on the table,
The candle was burning.

Dilapidated hut

Alexander Blok

Dilapidated hut
It's all covered in snow.
Grandma-old lady
He looks out of the window.
To the naughty grandchildren
Knee-deep snow.
Fun for the kids
Running a fast sled...
They run, laugh,
Making a snow house
They ring loudly
Voices all around...
There will be a snow house
Frisky game...
My fingers will get cold, -
It's time to go home!
Tomorrow we'll have tea,
They look out of the window -
And the house has already melted,
It's spring outside!

Sergey Yesenin

White birch
Below my window
Covered with snow
Exactly silver.

On fluffy branches
Snow border
The brushes have blossomed
White fringe.

And the birch tree stands
In sleepy silence,
And the snowflakes are burning
In golden fire.

And the dawn is lazy
Walking around
Sprinkles branches
New silver.

Wonderful picture...

Afanasy Fet

Wonderful picture
How dear you are to me:
White plain,
Full moon,

The light of the high heavens,
And shining snow
And distant sleighs
Lonely running.

Winter

Sergey Yesenin

Autumn has already flown away,
And winter came rushing.
As if on wings, she flew
Suddenly she is invisible.

Now the frosts are crackling
And all the ponds were shackled.
And the boys screamed
Thanks to her for her efforts.

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

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

Where is the sweet whisper...

Evgeny Baratynsky

Where is the sweet whisper
My forests?
Streams of murmurs,
Meadow flowers?
The trees are bare;
Carpet winter
Covered the hills
Meadows and valleys.
Under the ice
With its bark
The stream grows numb;
Everything is numb
Only the evil wind
Raging, howling
And the sky covers
Gray haze.

Why, sad,
I'm watching out the window
Are there snowstorms?
To the lover of happiness
Shelter from bad weather
It gives.
The fire is crackling
In my oven;
His rays
And the ardor is flying
I'm having fun
A carefree look.
I dream in silence
Before the live
His game
And I forget
I storm howl.

Poems about winter by Russian poets *** Snow and snow patterns, There is a blizzard in the field, conversations, It’s already dark at five o’clock. Day - skates, snowballs, sleds, Evening - old wives' tales, - Here it is - winter!.. A. Fet *** Snow everywhere; everything is quiet all around; Nature sleeps in winter's sleep, And through the clouds - gray and gloomy - The sun looks dimly. Above my window there is a rustic Birds nest - but it reminded me of spring, flowers and the sun!.. I. Belousov *** The first snow The winter cold smelled on the fields and forests. The skies lit up with bright purple before sunset. At night the storm raged, And with dawn the first snow fell on the village, on the ponds, on the deserted garden. And today, over the wide White tablecloth of the fields, We said goodbye to the belated Swirl of geese. I. Bunin *** The creaking of steps along the white streets... The creaking of steps along the white streets, Lights in the distance; Crystals sparkle on the frozen walls. Silvery fluff hung from the eyelashes into the eyes, The silence of the cold night occupies the spirit. The wind sleeps, and everything grows numb, Just to fall asleep; The clear air itself is timid to breathe in the frost. A. Fet *** Bewitched by the Enchantress of Winter, the forest stands, And under the snowy fringe, motionless, silent, it glitters with a wonderful life. And he stands, bewitched, - Neither dead nor alive - Enchanted by a magical dream, All entangled, all shackled with a light downy chain... Does the winter sun place its scythe ray on him - Nothing in him will tremble, He will all flare up and sparkle with a dazzling beauty. F. Tyutchev *** Mom! Look from the window - You know, yesterday it was not for nothing that the cat washed her nose: There is no dirt, the whole yard is covered, It has brightened, it has turned white - Apparently, there is frost. Not prickly, light blue Frost is hung on the branches - Just look! As if someone had tampered with fresh, white, plump cotton wool, he removed everything from the bushes. Now there will be no argument: It’s fun to run on the sled, and it’s fun to run up the hill! Really, mom? You won’t refuse, But you yourself will probably say: “Well, hurry up for a walk!” A. Fet *** A wonderful picture, How dear you are to me: White plain, Full moon, Light of high skies, And shiny snow, And distant sleighs Lonely running . A.A. Fet *** Chrysanthemums On the window, silver with frost, Chrysanthemums bloomed overnight. In the upper windows - the sky is bright blue And stuck in the snow dust. The sun rises, vigorous from the cold, The window glows golden. The morning is quiet, joyful and young, Everything is covered with white snow. I.A. Bunin *** It’s not for nothing that winter is angry, Its time has passed - Spring is knocking on the window And driving it out of the yard. And everything began to fuss, Everything bores the winter out - And the larks in the sky Already started ringing the bell. Winter is still busy and grumbling about Spring. She laughs in her eyes And only makes more noise... The evil witch went mad And, grabbing the snow, She let it run away into the beautiful child. .. Spring and grief are not enough: I washed myself in the snow And only became blush In defiance of the enemy. F.I. Tyutchev *** Winter (excerpt) White, fluffy snow swirls in the air And quietly falls to the ground, lies down. And in the morning the Field turned white with snow, as if it were covered with a shroud. The dark forest covered itself with a wonderful hat and fell asleep under it, soundly, soundly... God's days are short, the sun shines little, now the frosts have come - and winter has come... I.Z. Surikov *** Snowflake Light fluffy White snowflake, How pure, How brave! On the stormy road it easily flies, not to the azure heights - it asks to land. She left the wonderful azure. She cast herself into an unknown Country. Skillfully glides in the shining rays, preserved white among the melting flakes. Under the blowing wind it trembles, flutters, on it, cherishing, it sways lightly. She is comforted by his swing. With its blizzards Spinning madly. The long road does not end, the Crystal Star touches the Earth. A brave, fluffy Snowflake lies. How pure, How brave! K.D. Balmont *** Winter morning Frost and sun, a wonderful day! You are still dozing, lovely friend, - It’s time, beauty, wake up: Open your eyes, closed with bliss, Towards the northern Aurora, Appear as the Star of the North! In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry, there was darkness in the cloudy sky; The moon, like a pale spot, turned yellow through the gloomy clouds, And you sat sad - And now... look out the window: Under the blue skies Magnificent carpets, Glistening in the sun, the snow lies; The transparent forest alone turns black, And the spruce turns green through the frost, And the river glitters under the ice. The whole room is illuminated with an amber shine. The flooded stove crackles with a cheerful sound. It's nice to think by the bed. But you know: shouldn’t we tell the brown filly to be banned from the sled? Sliding through the morning snow, dear friend, let us indulge in the running of the impatient horse and visit the empty fields, the forests that were recently so dense, and the shore that is dear to me. A. S. Pushkin *** Eugene Onegin (excerpt) Here the wind, driving up the clouds, breathed, howled - and here comes the sorceress winter herself. She came and fell apart; Hanged in clumps on the branches of oak trees; Lay down in wavy carpets Among the fields, around the hills; The river bank with the motionless river was leveled with a plump veil; Frost flashed. And we are glad for the pranks of Mother Winter... ....................................... Tidy fashionable parquet The river shines, dressed in ice. The joyful people of the boys cut the ice sonorously with their skates; A heavy goose on red paws, Having decided to swim along the bosom of the waters, Steps carefully onto the ice, Slides and falls; cheerful The first snow flashes and curls, falling like stars onto the shore. A.S. Pushkin *** Blizzard At night in the fields, to the tunes of a blizzard, Birch and spruce trees doze, swaying. .. The moon shines between the clouds over the field - A pale shadow runs over and melts... I imagine at night: between the white birches Frost wanders in the foggy radiance. At night in the hut, to the tunes of a blizzard, the creaking of a cradle can be heard quietly... For months, the light in the darkness is silvering - flowing into the frozen glass of the shops. I imagine at night: between the branches of the birches Frost looks into the silent huts. Dead field, steppe road! The night blizzard sweeps you away, Your villages sleep to the songs of the blizzard, Lonely spruce trees doze in the snow... I imagine at night: don’t steppe all around - Frost wanders in the deaf graveyard... Ivan Bunin *** Winter road Through the wavy fogs The moon makes its way, On sad glades She sheds a sad light. Along the winter, boring road, a troika of greyhounds runs, a monotonous bell rattles tiresomely. Something familiar is heard in the long songs of the coachman: That daring revelry, That heartfelt melancholy... No fire, no black hut, Wilderness and snow... Towards me Only striped miles Come across one... Boring, sad... Tomorrow , Nina, Tomorrow, returning to my dear one, I’ll forget myself by the fireplace, I’ll take a long look. The hour hand will make its measured circle with a resounding sound, And, removing the annoying ones, Midnight will not separate us. It’s sad, Nina: my path is boring, my driver has fallen silent from his doze, the bell is monotonous, the moon’s face is foggy. A. S. Pushkin *** Winter evening A storm covers the sky with darkness, Whirling snow whirlwinds; Then she will howl like a beast, then she will cry like a child; Then suddenly there will be a rustle of straw on the dilapidated roof; The way a belated traveler knocks on our window. Our dilapidated shack is both sad and dark. Why are you, my old lady, silent at the window? Or are you, my friend, tired of the howling of the storm, or are you dozing under the buzz of Your spindle? Let's drink, good friend of my poor youth, Let's drink out of grief; where is the mug? The heart will be more cheerful. Sing me a song about how the tit lived quietly across the sea; Sing me a song like the girl went for water in the morning. The storm covers the sky with darkness, spinning snow whirlwinds; Then she will howl like a beast, then she will cry like a child. Let's drink, good friend of my poor youth, Let's drink out of grief; where is the mug? The heart will be more cheerful. A. S. Pushkin *** Snow flies and sparkles in the golden radiance of the day. As if it were covering all the valleys and fields with down... The little river was covered with ice And fell asleep for the time being, With ringing laughter the children are already rolling down the mountain; And the peasant renews the road to the forest with wood; Snow flies and sparkles, Quietly falling from the sky. Spiridon Drozhzhin *** Winter Where the river played with gold, Conversing with the reeds, Now crystal ice lies there, Sparkling with pure silver. Where the rye, like the sea, was worried, Where the lush meadows bloomed, Now there the blizzard and blizzard are walking menacingly and angrily. Philip Shkulev *** Winter sings and echoes... Winter sings and echoes, The shaggy forest lulls the pine forest with a hundred ringing sounds. All around, with deep melancholy, Gray clouds float to a distant land. And a snowstorm spreads across the yard like a silk carpet, but it is painfully cold. Playful sparrows, like lonely children, huddled near the window. The little birds are cold, hungry, tired, and huddle closer together. And the blizzard, with a furious roar, knocks on the hanging shutters and gets angrier and angrier. And the tender birds doze under these snowy whirlwinds at the frozen window. And they dream of a beautiful, clear, beautiful spring in the smiles of the sun. S. Yesenin *** Eugene Onegin (excerpt) Winter!.. The peasant, triumphant, Renews the path on the logs; His horse, sensing the snow, trudges along at a trot; Exploding the fluffy reins, the daring carriage flies; The coachman sits on the beam wearing a sheepskin coat and a red sash. Here is a yard boy running, having planted a bug in a sled, transforming himself into a horse; The naughty man has already frozen his finger: He is both hurt and funny, And his mother threatens him through the window... A.S. Pushkin *** Birch White birch Under my window Covered with snow, Like silver. On the fluffy branches, like a snowy border, brushes blossomed like a white fringe. And the birch tree stands in sleepy silence, And the snowflakes burn in golden fire. And the dawn, lazily going around, sprinkles the branches with new silver. S. Yesenin *** Powder I'm going. Quiet. Ringing can be heard under hoofs in the snow, only gray crows make noise in the meadow. Bewitched by the invisible, The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep, Like a white scarf tied to a pine tree. She bent down like an old woman, leaned on a stick, and right under the top of her head a woodpecker was hammering on a branch. The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space, Snow is falling and a shawl is spreading. The endless road runs away like a ribbon into the distance. S. Yesenin *** Meeting winter (excerpt) Yesterday morning the rain was knocking on the glass windows; Above the ground the fog rose like clouds. The cold blew into my face from the gloomy skies, and God knows what, the gloomy forest cried. At noon the rain stopped, and like a white fluff, snow began to fall on the autumn mud. The night has passed. It's dawn. There is no cloud anywhere. The air is light and clean, And the river is frozen. In the yards and houses the snow lies like a sheet and from the sun it shines with multi-colored fire. The forest looks cheerfully at the deserted expanse of whitened fields From under the black curls - As if he is happy about something. And on the branches of birches, like diamonds, drops of restrained tears burn. Hello, winter guest! We ask you to be kind to us to sing songs of the north through the forests and steppes. We have freedom - Walk anywhere; Build bridges over rivers and spread carpets. We will never get used to it, Let your frost crackle: Our Russian blood burns in the frost... Ivan Nikitin *** Frost, Red Nose (excerpt) It is not the wind that rages over the forest, It is not the streams that run from the mountains, Frost the voivode patrols his possessions , He looks to see if the snowstorms have covered the forest paths well, And are there any cracks, crevices, And is there any bare ground? Are the tops of the pines fluffy, Are the patterns on the oaks beautiful? And are the ice floes firmly bound in the great and small waters? He walks through the trees, crackles through the frozen water, and the bright sun plays in his shaggy beard... Climbing onto a large pine tree, he hits the branches with a club, and to himself, a daring man, sings a boastful song: “Blizzards, snows and fogs are always submissive to the frost.” , I will go to the seas and oceans - I will build palaces of ice. It is planned - I will hide large rivers under oppression for a long time, I will build ice bridges, which the people will not build. Where the fast, noisy waters recently flowed freely - Today pedestrians passed, Carts with goods passed... Being rich, I don’t count the treasury, And everything is not scarce; I am putting away my kingdom In almaly, pearls, silver..." N. Nekrasov *** Just yesterday, melting in the sun, The forest was the last to tremble with its leaves, And the winter, lushly green, She lay like a velvet carpet. Looking arrogantly, as before, at the victims of cold and sleep, the Invincible Pine did not change itself in anything. Today summer suddenly disappeared; All around is white, lifeless, the Earth and the sky - everything is dressed in some kind of dull silver. Fields without herds, forests dull, Neither scanty leaves nor grass. I don’t recognize the growing power In the diamond ghosts of foliage. As if in a gray cloud of smoke From the kingdom of cereals, by the will of fairies We were incomprehensibly transported to the kingdom of rock crystals. A. Fet *** Childhood (excerpt) Here is my village; This is my home; Here I am sledding along a steep mountain; Here the sled rolls up, and I’m on my side - clap! I'm rolling head over heels downhill into a snowdrift. And my boy friends, standing above me, laugh merrily at my misfortune. My whole face and hands are covered with snow... I'm in grief in the snowdrift, but the guys are laughing! I. Surikov *** Dilapidated hut Dilapidated hut All covered in snow. An old grandmother looks out of the window. Snow for the naughty grandchildren knee-deep. It's fun for the kids to run fast on sleds... They run, laugh, sculpt a snow house, Voices ring out loudly all around... There will be a frolicking game in the snow house... Your fingers will get cold, - It's time to go home! Tomorrow they will drink tea, Look out of the window - And the house has already melted, It’s spring outside!

Nikolay Nekrasov

The snowball is fluttering, spinning,
It's white outside.
And the puddles turned
In cold glass.

Where the finches sang in summer,
Today - look! -
Like pink apples
There are bullfinches on the branches.

The snow is cut up by skis,
Like chalk, creaky and dry,
And the red cat catches
Cheerful white flies.