A sad time, a charm of the eyes... A.S. Pushkin. "Autumn time! Eyes charm

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

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

And distant gray winter threats.

The sky was already breathing in autumn....

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

Autumn morning

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

Autumn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kibereva Elizaveta

One of the topics in the “Listening to Music” lesson was a conversation about the seasons. I especially liked the autumn season and, while doing my homework, I decided to take a closer look at the theme of “Autumn” in painting, literature and music.

Having started work, I discovered that I knew few poems about autumn, was almost unfamiliar with paintings, and only one piece of music came to mind.

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NG MBOU DOD "Children's Music School named after. V.V. Andreeva"

City competition of research projects “The History of a Masterpiece”

Nomination "Musical Art"

Sad time, charm of the eyes.....

Kibireva Elizaveta

1st grade student

vocal department

Supervisor:

Korolkova M.A.

teacher

theoretical disciplines

Nefteyugansk, 2013.

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Main part. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

Application. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

Introduction.

In September of this year, I, like many children my age, went to first grade. My long-time dream was to learn to sing and play an instrument, so I entered the music school named after Vasily Vasilyevich Andreev and became a student in the vocal department. In addition to vocal lessons, I attend solfeggio and listening to music, learning to play the piano.

Having started work, I discovered that I knew few poems about autumn, was almost unfamiliar with paintings, and only one piece of music came to mind. Then I decided to conduct a survey among my comrades and ask them these questions.

Do you know poems about autumn?

Do you know any paintings about autumn?

Do you know musical works, songs about autumn?

After the survey, it was concluded that my comrades know very few poems (two out of 14), don’t know paintings at all (not a single positive answer out of 14), and know a little more songs (three out of 14).

Main part.

In autumn, nature becomes quiet, as if preparing for winter sleep, it seems tired, tired. The trees are throwing off their leaves. Birds are leaving us and flying to warm countries. When you look at this fading autumn nature, you are overcome by different feelings: tenderness, surprise from admiring the beauty, and sadness from saying goodbye to summer, the warmth that the beauty of autumn is leaving. If we compare the time of year with the time of day, then spring is the morning, because everything wakes up and begins to move, summer is the middle of the day, and autumn is twilight, evening, the end of the day.

Autumn can be so different! In early autumn, nature is decorated with a multi-colored outfit. You won’t see any colors and shades! And in late autumn it rains, the leaves fall, all the fabulous beauty of nature fades and goes away. It's sad to see bare trees, clouds and puddles.

To paint a picture, the artist has paints, the poets have words, the composer has only sounds. But you can draw beautifully with them, as Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky does. In the melodious melody of Tchaikovsky “Autumn Song” there is a parting with the passing summer, regret about the fading nature. The work is dominated by sad intonations - sighs. The melody brings back memories and nostalgia. In it, a sad autumn landscape and a person’s mood are fused together. Listening to “Autumn Song,” it’s easy to imagine an empty veranda, strewn with withered leaves, and the sounds of a piano coming from afar... This is my favorite work.

S. Yu. Zhukovsky was probably filled with similar feelings when creating his painting “Autumn. Veranda” (Appendix No. 1).

One of the most famous artists who loved to paint autumn is Isaac Ilyich Levitan. Autumn was Levitan's favorite time of year, and he dedicated many paintings to it.

The painting “Golden Autumn” is one of the artist’s best creations; bright colors and solemn peace create a feeling of the greatness of nature. Looking at the pictures, I just want to exclaim: “It’s a sad time! The charm of the eyes!”, “Lush decay of nature”, “Forests dressed in crimson and gold.” How accurately and aptly Pushkin described his favorite time of year in his famous poems, and the artist depicted autumn, putting a flurry of feelings and experiences into the paintings (Appendix No. 2).

In the picture we see a birch grove in copper-gold autumn decoration. In the depths of the meadow the river is lost, on the left bank of which there are slender white-yellow birch trees and two aspen trees with almost fallen leaves. The ground is covered with yellowing withered grass. And on the right bank of the river there is a row of still green willows, which seem to resist autumn withering. The river surface seems motionless and cold. The autumn day depicted by the artist is full of light.

The same rich autumn decoration appears before us in the painting by V.D. Polenova "Golden Autumn" (Appendix No. 3).

A poem by Sergei Yesenin surprisingly suits this picture:

The golden grove dissuaded

Birch, cheerful language,

And the cranes, sadly flying,

They don’t regret anything anymore...

The mood of this picture is similar to the musical work “Autumn” from the cycle “The Seasons” by A. Vivaldi. Listening to music, we can imagine the following picture: autumn leaves, falling, spinning in a waltz, the sun is shining, birds, smoothly flapping their wings, fly away to the south.

Both musical works and the painting “Golden Autumn”depict calm autumn weather.

These works impressed me very much and I also wanted to depict autumn, to convey my mood in the drawing, inspired by the melody (Appendix No. 4, No. 5).

But autumn is not only golden with a clear azure sky! Autumn weather can be sad and cheerful, sunny and cloudy, golden and gray.

During vocal lessons, I became acquainted with the song “Autumn” based on the verses of A. Pleshcheev. The scale is minor and the melody returns to the same note. It depicts a picture of autumn weather:

Autumn has come

The flowers have dried up,

And they look sad

Bare bushes.

Withers and turns yellow

Grass in the meadows

It's just turning green

Winter in the fields.

A cloud covers the sky

The sun doesn't shine

The wind howls in the field,

The rain is drizzling.

The waters began to rustle

of the fast stream,

The birds have flown away

To warm regions.

This poem is consonant with “Autumn Melody” by A. Rybnikov. The music expresses a melancholy, depressed, sad mood, consonant with the uncomfortable, joyless picture of fading nature. The music is monotonous, plaintive, and even some disturbing notes can be heard. Notes of regret for the passing warmth and beauty.

This is exactly how Isaac Levitan saw autumn in his painting “Autumn” (Appendix No. 6).

And in the film “Autumn” by Stanislav Yulianovich Zhukovsky, real autumn bad weather played out! (Appendix No. 7).

Looking at this uncomfortable landscape, you can hear the sound of the wind, carrying the last wet leaves and gray clouds into the distance, merging with the restless notes of the work “The Storm” by L. V. Beethoven.

Conclusion.

Composers, poets and artists see the nature of autumn in different ways, and convey their impressions in different ways with the help of colors, intonations, comparisons: composers - in music, poets - in poetry, artists - in their paintings.

“Sad time” or “charm of the eyes”... One way or another, autumn has always inspired poets, artists and musicians to create great masterpieces. Such a different autumn: in some works there is a celebration of colors and the triumph of nature, in others there is light sadness, nostalgia, and bad weather.

Autumn is a time of magical transformation of nature, which generously gives the last rays of warmth, preparing to sleep for many months under a fluffy winter blanket.

Autumn is a time of year that leaves no one indifferent. That’s why poets and writers dedicated such wonderful lines to autumn. Artists have painted many paintings of autumn nature, which are masterpieces and never cease to delight us. With the richness of its colors, autumn attracted the attention of great composers who sang its beauty.

I love autumn, perhaps because I was born in October. Perhaps because “Autumn Song” by P.I. Tchaikovsky is one of the favorite works for me and my mother. I dream of learning to play the piano and performing “Autumn Song” for her one fine October evening...

Application.

Literature.

Autumn (Z. Fedorovskaya)

Autumn was blooming at the edges of the colors,

I quietly ran a brush across the foliage:

The hazel trees turned yellow and the maples glowed,

In the autumn purple there is only green oak.

Autumn consoles:

Don't regret summer!

Look - the grove is dressed in gold!

*** (A. Pushkin)

The sky was already breathing in autumn,

The sun shone less often,

The day was getting shorter

Mysterious forest canopy

With a sad noise she stripped herself,

Fog lay over the fields,

Noisy caravan of geese

Stretched to the south: approaching

Quite a boring time;

It was already November outside...

Autumn (V. Avdienko)

Autumn walks along the path,

Got my feet wet in puddles.

It's raining

And there is no light.

Summer is lost somewhere.

Autumn is coming

Autumn is wandering.

Wind from maple leaves

Reset.

There's a new rug under your feet,

Yellow-pink -

Maple.

*** (A. Pleshcheev)

Boring picture!

Endless clouds

The rain just keeps pouring down

Puddles by the porch

Stunted rowan

Gets wet under the window;

Looks at the village

A gray spot.

Why are you visiting early?

Has autumn come to us?

The heart still asks

Light and warmth!

*** (A.S. Pushkin)

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,

In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,

And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,

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

And distant threats of gray winter.

Autumn (A.N. Maikov)

There's already a golden leaf covering

Wet soil in the forest...

I boldly trample my foot

The beauty of the spring forest.

Cheeks are burning from the cold:

I like to run in the forest,

Hear the branches crack,

Rake the leaves with your feet!

I don’t have the same joys here!

The forest has taken away the secret:

The last nut has been picked

The last flower is plucked;

The moss is not raised, not dug up

A pile of curly milk mushrooms;

Doesn't hang near the stump

Purple of lingonberry clusters;

Lies on the leaves for a long time

The nights are frosty, and through the forest

Looks kind of cold

The clarity of transparent skies...

Autumn (K. Balmont)

Lingonberries are ripening,

The days have become colder,

And from the bird's cry

It only makes my heart sadder.

Flocks of birds fly away

Away, beyond the blue sea,

All the trees are shining

In a multi-colored dress.

The sun laughs less often.

There is no incense in the flowers.

Autumn will wake up soon

And he will cry sleepily.

Autumn tales and stories.

I. S. Turgenev Autumn day in a birch grove(excerpt from the story “Date” from the series “Notes of a Hunter”). The action of many of the stories in “Notes of a Hunter” also takes place in the fall.

I. S. Sokolov-Mikitov Short stories about autumn: Autumn,Deciduous Fairy tale, Forest in autumn, Autumn in the forest, The hot summer has flown by, Autumn in Chun.

N. G. Garin-MikhailovskyAutumn Poem in prose.

I. A. Bunin Antonov apples.

K. G. Paustovskyyellow light, PresentA story about autumnBadger nose, Farewell to summer, What types of rains are there?(Excerpt from the story “Golden Rose”),My house, Dictionary of native nature.

V. Sukhomlinsky I want to have my say.

K. D. Ushinsky Stories and tales Autumn.

M. M. Prishvin Poetic miniatures about autumn.

N. I. Sladkov Autumn in the forest, Autumn is on the doorstep, Forest hiding placesSeptember(Autumn is on the threshold, On the great path, Spider, Time, Birds, Squirrel fly agaric, Winged shadow, Owl that was forgotten, Sly dandelion, Friends and comrades, Forest rustles),October(Sewing, Scary Invisible Man,

Pheasant bouquet, Trees creaking, The mystery of the birdhouse, Old acquaintance, Magpie train, Autumn Christmas tree, Stubborn finch, Forest rustles, Magic shelf),November(Why is November piebald? Resort “Icicle”, Powder, Wagtail letters, Desperate hare, Tit stock, Starlings have arrived, Forest rustles).

G. A. Skrebitsky Autumn(Story from the book “Four Artists”).

G. Ya. Snegirev Blueberry jam.

V. G. Suteev Apple.

V. V. Bianchi

The poem in octaves “Autumn” by A. S. Pushkin was written in the fall of 1833 during the poet’s second visit to the village. Boldino, upon returning from the Urals.

Both in prose and in poetry, A. S. Pushkin repeatedly wrote that autumn is his favorite time of year, the time of his inspiration, creative growth and literary works.

It was not without reason that the poet was happy about autumn and considered it the time of his heyday: A. S. Pushkin’s second autumn on the Boldino estate, lasting a month and a half, turned out to be no less fruitful and rich in works than the first, epochal, Boldino autumn of 1830.

The most famous passage is “Sad time! The charm of the eyes!”, which is the VII octave of the poem “Autumn,” belongs to the landscape lyrics of A. S. Pushkin. The lines of the passage present a complete picture, realistically accurately conveying the awakening of poetry in the soul of the poet inspired by his favorite time.

The verse size of the passage is iambic hexameter; stanza of a poem is an octave.

It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!

The work “Autumn,” and in particular the excerpt, was not published during the author’s lifetime; it was first published by V. A. Zhukovsky in the posthumous collection of works by A. S. Pushkin in 1841.

We bring to your attention the text of the poem in full:

October has already arrived - the grove is already shaking off

The last leaves from their naked branches;

The autumn chill has blown in - the road is freezing.

The stream still runs babbling behind the mill,

But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry

To the departing fields with my desire,

And the winter ones suffer from mad fun,

And the barking of dogs wakes up the sleeping oak forests.

Now is my time: I don’t like spring;

The thaw is boring to me; stench, dirt - in the spring I’m sick;

The blood is fermenting; feelings and mind are constrained by melancholy.

I'm happier in the harsh winter

I love her snow; in the presence of the moon

How easy the running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free,

When under the sable, warm and fresh,

She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!

How fun it is to put sharp iron on your feet,

Slide along the mirror of standing, smooth rivers!

And the brilliant worries of the winter holidays?..

But you also need to know honor; six months of snow and snow,

After all, this is finally for the inhabitant of the den,

The bear will get bored. You can't take a whole century

We'll ride in a sleigh with the young Armids

Or sour by the stoves behind double glass.

Oh, summer is red! I would love you

If only it weren't for the heat, the dust, the mosquitoes, and the flies.

You, ruining all your spiritual abilities,

You torture us; like the fields we suffer from drought;

Just to get something to drink and refresh yourself -

We have no other thought, and it’s a pity for the old woman’s winter,

And, having seen her off with pancakes and wine,

We are celebrating her funeral with ice cream and ice.

The days of late autumn are usually scolded,

But she’s sweet to me, dear reader,

Quiet beauty, shining humbly.

So unloved child in the family

It attracts me to itself. To tell you frankly,

Of the annual times, I am glad only for her,

There is a lot of good in her; a lover is not vain,

I found something in her like a wayward dream.

How to explain this? I like her,

Like you probably are a consumptive maiden

Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death

The poor thing bows down without a murmur, without anger.

A smile is visible on faded lips;

She does not hear the gaping of the grave abyss;

The color of his face is still purple.

She is still alive today, gone tomorrow.

It's a sad time! charm of the eyes!

I am pleased with your farewell beauty -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,

In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,

And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,

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

And distant gray winter threats.

And every autumn I bloom again;

The Russian cold is good for my health;

I feel love again for the habits of life:

One by one sleep flies away, one by one hunger comes;

The blood plays easily and joyfully in the heart,

Desires are boiling - I’m happy, young again,

I’m full of life again - that’s my body

(Please forgive me the unnecessary prosaicism).

They lead the horse to me; in the open expanse,

Waving his mane, he carries the rider,

And loudly under his shining hoof

The frozen valley rings and the ice cracks.

But the short day goes out, and in the forgotten fireplace

The fire is burning again - then the bright light is pouring,

It smolders slowly - and I read in front of it

Or I harbor long thoughts in my soul.

And I forget the world - and in sweet silence

I'm sweetly lulled to sleep by my imagination,

And poetry awakens in me:

The soul is embarrassed by lyrical excitement,

It trembles and sounds and searches, as in a dream,

To finally pour out with free manifestation -

And then an invisible swarm of guests comes towards me,

Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.

And the thoughts in my head are agitated in courage,

And light rhymes run towards them,

And fingers ask for pen, pen for paper,

A minute - and the poems will flow freely.

So the motionless ship slumbers in the motionless moisture,

But choo! - the sailors suddenly rush and crawl

Up, down - and the sails are inflated, the winds are full;

The mass has moved and is cutting through the waves.

Floating. Where should we sail? . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Poems about autumn through the eyes of classical poets are amazingly beautiful. They colorfully describe this sad, but at the same time charming time of year.

Excerpt from Pushkin's Autumn

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

(A. Pushkin)

Leaf fall

The forest is like a painted tower,

Lilac, gold, crimson,

A cheerful, motley wall

Stands above a bright clearing.

Birch trees with yellow carving

Glisten in the blue azure,

Like towers, the fir trees are darkening,

And between the maples they turn blue

Here and there through the foliage

Clearances in the sky, like a window.

The forest smells of oak and pine,

Over the summer it dried out from the sun,

And Autumn is a quiet widow

Enters his motley mansion...

(I. Bunin)

An unprecedented autumn built a high dome,

There was an order for the clouds not to darken this dome.

And people marveled: the September deadlines were passing,

Where did the cold, humid days go?..

The water of the muddy canals became emerald,

And the nettles smelled like roses, but only stronger,

It was stuffy from the dawns, unbearable, demonic and scarlet,

We all remembered them until the end of our days.

The sun was like a rebel entering the capital,

And the spring autumn caressed him so greedily,

What seemed like it was about to turn transparent

snowdrop…

That’s when you approached, calm, to my porch.

(Anna Akhmatova September 1922)

Late autumn time

I love the Tsarskoye Selo garden,

When he is in the quiet semi-darkness,

As if in a drowsiness, embraced

And white-winged visions

On the dim lake glass

In some kind of bliss of numbness

They will become rigid in this semi-darkness...

And to the porphyry steps

Catherine's Palaces

Dark shadows are falling

October early evenings -

And the garden darkens like oak trees,

And under the stars from the darkness of the night,

Like a reflection of the glorious past,

A golden dome emerges...

(F. Tyutchev)

Autumn blues...

The autumn wind played the saxophone

A little sad my favorite blues

The saxophone sparkles in his palms,

I'm freezing...

I'm afraid of scaring...

Maestro wind, narrowing his eyes slightly,

He leads the party selflessly.

He furrowed his brows with inspiration...

And the leaves start a round dance to the beat.

He throws them up

And it calms down...

The foliage soars obediently and lightly...

The melody floats

And my heart melts

And he can’t find the right words...

And I really want to wear a green light dress

Dancing quietly on tiptoe,

And feel what happiness it is

Listen to autumn light music...

And expose your face to the rain notes

Catching the drops of tart taste with your lips

And how easy it is for foliage to soar in flight...

I love it when the wind plays the blues...

(N. Vesennyaya)

Autumn reigned in the old park,

Painted trees and bushes.

Bright scarves, thrown over the shoulders,

I set up canvases for artists.

Smeared it a little with blue watercolor

The surface of the pond and the height of the sky.

Colored with soft pastels

Clouds, adding purity.

I looked into the old alleys,

Made noise by the wind and rain.

Without sparing beauty and affection,

She covered everything with gold leaf.

A red fox ran by

On long uncut grass...

And a big, alarming, bright bird

Carried away to the cold blue.

(T. Lavrova)

Excerpt from the poem Eugene Onegin

The sky was already breathing in autumn,

The sun shone less often,

The day was getting shorter

Mysterious forest canopy

With a sad noise she stripped herself,

Fog lay over the fields,

Noisy caravan of geese

Stretched to the south: approaching

Quite a boring time;

It was already November outside the yard.

(A. Pushkin)

There is in the initial autumn

A short but wonderful time -

The whole day is like crystal,

And the evenings are radiant...

The air is empty, the birds are no longer heard,

But the first winter storms are still far away

And pure and warm azure flows

To the resting field...

(F. Tyutchev)

It's a sad time! Ouch charm!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the lush decay of nature,

Forests dressed in scarlet and gold,

In their canopy there is noise and fresh breath,

And the skies are covered with wavy darkness,

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

And distant gray winter threats.

(A. Pushkin)

Golden leaves swirled

In the pinkish water of the pond,

Like a light flock of butterflies

Freezingly, he flies towards the star.

I'm in love this evening,

The yellowing valley is close to my heart.

The wind boy up to his shoulders

The hem of the birch tree was stripped.

Both in the soul and in the valley there is coolness,

Blue twilight like a flock of sheep,

Behind the gate of the silent garden

The bell will ring and die.

I've never been thrifty before

So did not listen to rational flesh,

It would be nice, like willow branches,

To capsize into the pink waters.

It would be nice, smiling at the haystack,

The muzzle of the month chews hay...

Where are you, where, my quiet joy,

Loving everything, wanting nothing?

Why doesn’t my mind enter into my slumber then?

Derzhavin.