A.S. Pushkin. "Autumn time! "It's a sad time! Eye charm

Kibereva Elizabeth

One of the topics in the lesson "Listening to music" was a conversation about the seasons. I especially liked the season of autumn and, doing my homework, I decided to get to know the theme of "Autumn" in painting, literature and music.

Having started work, I discovered that I knew little of poems about autumn, I was almost unfamiliar with paintings, and only one thing came to my mind from musical works.

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City competition of research projects "History of one masterpiece"

Nomination "Musical Art"

Sad time, eyes charm ... ..

Kibireva Elizabeth

1st grade student

vocal department

Supervisor:

Korolkova M.A.

teacher

theoretical disciplines

Nefteyugansk, 2013.

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

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

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

Appendix. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . nine

Introduction.

In September of this year, I, like many children of my age, went to first grade. My old 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 of 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 little of poems about autumn, I was almost unfamiliar with paintings, and only one thing came to my mind from musical works. Then I decided to conduct a survey among my comrades and ask them such questions.

Do you know poems about autumn?

Do you know pictures 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), they don’t know pictures at all (not a single positive answer out of 14), they know a little more songs (three out of 14).

Main part.

In autumn, nature calms down, as if preparing for a winter sleep, it seems tired, weary. The trees are shedding their leaves. Birds leave us and fly to warm countries. When you look at this fading autumn nature, different feelings cover you: tenderness, surprise from admiring the beauty, and sadness from saying goodbye to summer, warmth that the beauty of autumn is leaving. If we compare the season with the time of the day, then spring is morning, because everything wakes up, starts to move, summer is the middle of the day, and autumn is twilight, evening, end of the day.

Autumn is so different! In early autumn, nature is adorned with colorful attire. What colors and shades you will not see! And in late autumn it rains, the leaves fall, all the fabulous beauty of nature fades, leaves. It is 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 they can perfectly draw, as Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky does. In Tchaikovsky's melodious melody "Autumn Song" - parting with the outgoing summer, regret about the fading nature. The work is dominated by sad intonations - sighs. The melody evokes memories, nostalgia. In it, a sad autumn landscape and the mood of a person are merged into one. Listening to the "Autumn Song" it is 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 overwhelmed with similar feelings when creating his painting "Autumn. Veranda" (Appendix No. 1).

One of the most famous artists who loved to paint autumn so much is Isaac Ilyich Levitan. Autumn was Levitan's favorite season, and he devoted many paintings to it.

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

In the picture we see a birch grove in copper-gold autumn decoration. In the depths of the meadow, a river is lost, on the left bank of which there are slender white-yellow birch trees and two aspens 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. Polenov "Golden Autumn" (Appendix No. 3).

A poem by Sergei Yesenin surprisingly fits this picture:

The golden grove dissuaded

Birch, cheerful language,

And the cranes, sadly flying,

No more regrets...

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

At vocal lessons, I got acquainted with the song "Autumn" to the verses of A. Pleshcheev. Minor fret, the melody returns to the same note. It depicts a picture of autumn bad weather:

Autumn has come

dried flowers,

And look sad

Bare bushes.

Wither and turn yellow

Grass in the meadows

Only turns 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.

Noisy water

fast stream,

The birds have flown

To warm climes.

This poem is consonant with "Autumn Melody" by A. Rybnikov. The music expresses a melancholy, depressed, sad mood, consonant with an uncomfortable, bleak picture of fading nature. The music is monotonous, plaintive, even some disturbing notes are heard. Notes of regret for the outgoing warmth and beauty.

This is exactly what Isaac Levitan saw autumn in his painting "Autumn" (Appendix No. 6).

And in the painting "Autumn" by Stanislav Yulianovich Zhukovsky, a real autumn bad weather broke out at all! (Appendix No. 7).

Looking at this uncomfortable landscape, one 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 Tempest” 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.

"A sad time" or "glamor of the eyes"... One way or another, autumn at all times inspired poets, artists and musicians to great masterpieces. Such a different autumn: in some works - a celebration of colors and the triumph of nature, in others - bright sadness, nostalgia, bad weather.

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

Autumn is the season that leaves no one indifferent. Therefore, such wonderful lines were dedicated to autumn by poets and writers. Artists have painted many pictures 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 of its beauty.

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

Appendix.

Literature.

Autumn (Z. Fedorovskaya)

Autumn at the edge of the paint bred,

On the foliage quietly brushed:

The hazel turned yellow and the maples blushed,

In autumn purple, only green oak.

Autumn comforts:

Don't miss summer!

Look - the grove is dressed in gold!

*** (A. Pushkin)

Already the sky was breathing in autumn,

The sun shone less

The day was getting shorter

Forests mysterious canopy

With a sad noise she was naked,

Fog fell on the fields

Noisy geese caravan

Stretched to the south: approaching

Pretty boring time;

November was already at the yard ...

Autumn (V. Avdienko)

Autumn walks along the path

Wet her feet in puddles.

It's raining

And there is no light.

Lost somewhere summer.

Autumn is coming

Autumn wanders.

Wind with maple leaves

Reset.

New carpet underfoot

Yellow-pink -

Maple.

*** (A. Pleshcheev)

Boring picture!

Clouds without end

The rain is pouring down

Puddles on the porch

stunted rowan

Wet under the window;

Looks village

Gray spot.

What are you visiting early

Autumn has come to us?

Still asks the heart

Light and warmth!

*** (A.S. Pushkin)

Sad time! Oh charm!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the magnificent nature of wilting,

Forests clad in crimson and gold,

In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,

And the heavens are covered with mist,

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

And distant gray winter threats.

Autumn (A.N. Maikov)

Covers a golden leaf

Wet ground in the forest...

I boldly trample with my foot

Spring forest beauty.

Cheeks are burning from the cold:

I like to run in the forest,

Hear the branches crack

Rake the leaves with your feet!

I have no former pleasures here!

The forest has shrugged off a secret:

The last nut is plucked

The last flower is plucked;

Moss is not raised, not blown up

A pile of curly mushrooms;

Doesn't hang around the stump

Purple lingonberry brushes;

Long lies on the leaves

The nights are frosty, and through the forest

Looks cold somehow

Clear skies...

Autumn (K. Balmont)

Cowberry ripens

The days got colder

And from the bird's cry

The heart is only sadder.

Flocks of birds fly away

Away, beyond the blue sea,

All the trees are shining

In multi-colored attire.

The sun laughs less.

There is no incense in flowers.

Autumn will wake up soon

And cry awake.

Autumn fairy tales and stories.

I. S. Turgenev Autumn day in a birch grove(an excerpt from the story “Date” from the cycle “Hunter's Notes”). Many of the stories in the Hunter's Notes also take place in autumn.

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

N. G. Garin-MikhailovskyAutumn prose poem.

I. A. Bunin Antonov apples.

K. G. Paustovskyyellow light, GiftA story about autumnbadger nose, Farewell to summer, What are the rains(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 on the doorstep, Forest secretsSeptember(Autumn on the threshold, On the great path, Spider, Time, Birds, Belkin fly agaric, Winged shadow, Forgotten owl, Sly dandelion, Friends-comrades, Forest rustles),October(Seamstress, Terrible invisible,

Bouquet of pheasants, Trees creak, Mystery of the birdhouse, Old acquaintance, Magpie train, Autumn Christmas tree, Stubborn finch, Forest rustles, Magic shelf),November(Why is November piebald? Icicle Resort, Porosha, Wagtail Letters, Desperate Hare, Titmouse Stock, Starlings Have Arrived, Forest Rustles).

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

G. Ya. Snegirev blueberry jam.

V. G. Suteev An Apple.

V. V. Bianchi

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

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

It was not without reason that the poet was glad of autumn and considered it the time of his heyday: the second autumn of A. S. Pushkin on the Boldino estate, a month and a half long, turned out to be no less fruitful and rich in works than the first, epoch-making, Boldin autumn of 1830.

The most famous excerpt is “A sad time! Eyes of charm! ”, Which is the VII octave of the poem“ Autumn ”, belongs to the landscape lyrics of A. S. Pushkin. The lines of the passage are a complete picture, realistically accurately conveying the awakening of poetry in the soul of a poet inspired by his beloved sometimes.

The poetic size of the passage is iambic six-foot; the stanza of the poem is an octave.

Sad time! oh charm!

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 come - the grove is already shaking off

The last leaves from their naked branches;

The autumn chill has died - the road freezes through.

The murmuring stream still runs behind the mill,

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

In the departing fields with his hunt,

And they suffer winter from mad fun,

And the barking of dogs wakes the sleeping oak forests.

Now it's my time: I don't like spring;

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

The blood is fermenting; feelings, the mind is constrained by melancholy.

In the harsh winter I am more satisfied,

I love her snow; in the presence of the moon

As an easy sleigh run with a friend is fast and free,

When under the sable, warm and fresh,

She shakes your hand, glowing and trembling!

How fun, shod with sharp iron feet,

Glide on the mirror of stagnant, smooth rivers!

And the brilliant anxieties of the winter holidays?..

But you also need to know honor; half a year snow yes snow,

After all, this is finally the inhabitant of the lair,

Bear, get bored. You can't for a century

We ride in a sleigh with the young Armides

Or sour by the stoves behind double panes.

Oh, red summer! I would love you

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

You, destroying all spiritual abilities,

you torment us; like fields, we suffer from drought;

Just how to get drunk, but refresh yourself -

There is no other thought in us, and it is a pity for the winter of the old woman,

And, seeing her off with pancakes and wine,

We make a wake for her with ice cream and ice.

The days of late autumn are usually scolded,

But she is dear to me, dear reader,

Silent beauty, shining humbly.

So unloved child in the native family

It draws me to itself. To tell you frankly

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

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

I found something in her a wayward dream.

How to explain it? I like her,

Like a consumptive maiden to you

Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death

The poor thing bows without grumbling, without anger.

The smile on the lips of the faded is visible;

She does not hear the yawn of the grave abyss;

Still purple color plays on the face.

She is still alive today, not tomorrow.

Sad time! oh charm!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the magnificent nature of wilting,

Forests clad in crimson and gold,

In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,

And the heavens are covered with mist,

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

And distant gray winter threats.

And every autumn I bloom again;

The Russian cold is good for my health;

I again feel love for the habits of being:

Sleep flies in succession, hunger finds in succession;

Easily and joyfully plays in the heart of blood,

Desires boil - I'm happy again, young,

I am full of life again - this is my body

(Allow me to forgive unnecessary prosaism).

Lead me a horse; in the expanse of the open,

Waving his mane, he carries a 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 burns again - then a bright light pours,

It smolders slowly - and I read before it

Or I feed long thoughts in my soul.

And I forget the world - and in sweet silence

I am 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 pour out at last a free manifestation -

And then an invisible swarm of guests comes to me,

Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.

And the thoughts in my head are worried in courage,

And light rhymes run towards them,

And fingers ask for a pen, pen for paper,

A minute - and the verses will flow freely.

So the ship slumbers motionless in motionless moisture,

But chu! - the sailors suddenly rush, crawl

Up, down - and the sails puffed out, the winds are full;

The mass has moved and cuts through the waves.

Floats. Where are we to swim? . . . .

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

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 the year.

Excerpt from Pushkin's Autumn

Sad time! Oh charm!

(A. Pushkin)

leaf fall

Forest, like a painted tower,

Purple, gold, crimson,

Cheerful, colorful wall

It stands over a bright meadow.

Birches with yellow carving

Shine in blue azure,

Like towers, Christmas trees darken,

And between the maples they turn blue

Here and there in the foliage through

Clearances in the sky, that windows.

The forest smells of oak and pine,

During the summer it dried up from the sun,

And Autumn is a quiet widow

He enters his motley tower ...

(I. Bunin)

Unprecedented autumn built a high dome,

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

And people marveled: the September deadlines are passing,

And where did the cold, wet days go? ..

The water of the muddy channels became emerald,

And the nettle smelled like roses, but only stronger,

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

We all remember them until the end of our days.

The sun was like a rebel who entered the capital,

And spring autumn caressed him so greedily,

What seemed - now the transparent will turn white

snowdrop…

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

(Anna Akhmatova September 1922)

Late autumn

I love the Tsarskoye Selo garden

When he is quiet half-dark,

As if in a nap, embraced

And white-winged visions

On the dim lake glass

In some bliss of numbness

They stagnate in this semi-darkness ...

And on the porphyry steps

Catherine's palaces

Dark shadows fall

October early evenings -

And the garden darkens like an oak tree,

And under the stars from the darkness of the night,

Like a reflection of a glorious past

The golden dome comes out ...

(F. Tyutchev)

Autumn Blues...

The autumn wind played the saxophone

A little sad my favorite blues

The saxophone sparkles in his palms,

I freeze...

I'm afraid to scare...

Maestro wind, slightly screwing up his eyes,

Selflessly leads the party.

He frowned in inspiration...

And the leaves to the beat start a round dance.

He throws them up

And it's quiet...

Foliage soars obedient and light ...

The melody floats

And the heart melts

And can't find the right words...

And I so want in a green light dress

Dancing softly on tiptoe

And feel what happiness it is

Listen to autumn light music ...

And turn your face to rain-notes

Catching lips drops tart taste

And like foliage it is easy to soar in flight ...

I love when the wind plays the blues...

(N. Spring)

Autumn reigned in the old park,

Painted trees and bushes.

Throwing bright scarves on the shoulders,

I put canvases for artists.

Slightly smeared with blue watercolor

Smooth surface of the pond and sky high.

Colored with soft pastel

Clouds, adding purity.

I looked into the old alleys,

Noisy with wind and rain.

Beauty and affection without sparing,

Everything was covered with gold leaf.

Ran like a red fox

On uncut grass...

And a big, disturbing, bright bird

Ran into the cold blue.

(T. Lavrova)

An excerpt from the poem Eugene Onegin

Already the sky was breathing in autumn,

The sun shone less

The day was getting shorter

Forests mysterious canopy

With a sad noise she was naked,

Fog fell on the fields

Noisy geese caravan

Stretched to the south: approaching

Pretty boring time;

November was already at the yard.

(A. Pushkin)

Is in the autumn of the original

Short but wonderful time -

The whole day stands as if crystal,

And radiant evenings ...

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

But far from the first winter storms

And pure and warm azure pours

On the resting field…

(F. Tyutchev)

Sad time! Oh charm!

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -

I love the magnificent nature of wilting,

Forests clad in crimson and gold,

In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,

And the heavens are covered with mist,

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

And distant gray winter threats.

(A. Pushkin)

Golden foliage swirled

In the pinkish water of the pond

Like a light flock of butterflies

With fading flies to the star.

I'm in love with this evening

The yellowing dol is close to the heart.

Youth-wind up to the shoulders

Headed on a birch hem.

And in the soul and in the valley coolness,

Blue dusk like a flock of sheep

Behind the gate of the silent garden

The bell will ring and freeze.

I've never been thrifty

So did not listen to rational flesh,

It would be nice, like willow branches,

To tip over into the pink waters.

It would be nice, on a haystack smiling,

Muzzle of the month to chew hay ...

Where are you, where are you, my quiet joy,

Loving everything, wanting nothing?

Everything is so, but is this a reason not to love autumn - after all, it also has a special charm. It is not for nothing that Russian poets, from Pushkin to Pasternak, so often wrote about autumn, singing about the beauty of golden foliage, the romance of rainy, foggy weather, and the invigorating power of cool air. AiF.ru has collected the best poems about autumn.

Alexander Pushkin

Sad time! oh charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the magnificent nature of wilting,
Forests clad in crimson and gold,
In their canopy of the wind noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with mist,
And a rare ray of sun, and the first frosts,
And distant gray winter threats.
And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I again feel love for the habits of being:
Sleep flies in succession, hunger finds in succession;
Easily and joyfully plays in the heart of blood,
Desires boil - I'm happy again, young,
I am full of life again - this is my body
(Allow me to forgive unnecessary prosaism).

State Museum-Reserve of A. S. Pushkin "Mikhailovskoe". Pskov region. Photo: www.russianlook.com

Nikolai Nekrasov

Glorious autumn! Healthy, vigorous
The air invigorates tired forces;
The ice is fragile on the icy river
As if melting sugar lies;
Near the forest, as in a soft bed,
You can sleep - peace and space!
The leaves have not faded yet,
Yellow and fresh lie like a carpet.
Glorious autumn! frosty nights,
Clear, quiet days...
There is no ugliness in nature! And kochi
And moss swamps, and stumps -
All is well under the moonlight
Everywhere I recognize my dear Russia ...
I quickly fly along cast-iron rails,
I think my mind...

Photo: Shutterstock.com / S.Borisov

Konstantin Balmont

And again autumn with a spell of rusty leaves,
Ruddy, scarlet, yellow, gold,
The mute blue of the lakes, their thick waters,
An agile whistle and a flight of tits in the oak forests.
Camel piles of majestic clouds,
The faded azure of cast skies,
The whole circle, the dimension of the features are cool,
Ascended vault, at night in star glory.
Who is a dream emerald blue
He got drunk in the summer hour, yearns at night.
All the past stands before him with his own eyes.
In the stream of the Milky, the surf beats quietly.
And I freeze, crouching to the center,
Through the mist of separation, my love, with you.

Fedor Tyutchev

Is in the lordship of autumn evenings
A touching, mysterious charm:
The ominous brilliance and variegation of trees,
Crimson leaves languid, light rustle,
Foggy and quiet azure
Over the sad orphan land,
And, like a premonition of descending storms,
A gusty, cold wind at times,
Damage, exhaustion - and on everything
That gentle smile of fading,
What in a rational being do we call
Divine bashfulness of suffering.

Athanasius Fet

When the through web
Spreads the threads of clear days
And under the villager's window
The distant Annunciation is more audible,
We are not sad, afraid again
Breath of near winter,
And the voice of the summer lived
We understand more clearly.

Sergey Yesenin

Quiet in the thicket of juniper along the cliff.
Autumn, a red mare, scratches her manes.
Above the river bank
The blue clang of her horseshoes is heard.
Schemnik-wind with a cautious step
Crumples foliage over road ledges
And kisses on the rowan bush
Red ulcers to the invisible Christ.

Painting "Golden Autumn". Ilya Ostroukhov, 1886-1887 Oil on canvas. Photo: www.russianlook.com

Ivan Bunin

The autumn wind rises in the forests,
It goes noisily through the thickets,
Dead leaves pluck and fun
In a frenzied dance carries.
Just freeze, fall down and listen,
Waving again, and after him
The forest will buzz, tremble - and pour
Leaves rain golden.
It blows in winter, frosty blizzards,
Clouds float in the sky...
Let all the dead, the weak perish
And return to dust!
Winter blizzards are the forerunners of spring,
Winter blizzards must
Bury under cold snow
Dead by the coming of spring.
In the dark autumn the earth takes cover
Yellow foliage, and under it
Dormant shoots and vegetation vegetation,
Juice of life-giving roots.
Life is born in mysterious darkness.
Joy and death
Serve the imperishable and unchanging -
Eternal beauty of Being!

Painting «On the veranda. Autumn". Stanislav Zhukovsky. 1911 Photo: www.russianlook.com

Boris Pasternak

Autumn. Fairy tale,
All open for review.
clearings of forest roads,
Looking into the lakes
Like in an art exhibition:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, ash, aspen
Unprecedented in gilding.
Linden hoop gold -
Like a crown on a newlywed.
The face of a birch - under the veil
Wedding and transparent.
buried earth
Under foliage in ditches, pits.
In the yellow maples of the wing,
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn they stand in pairs,
And sunset on their bark
Leaves an amber trail.
Where you can not step into the ravine,
So that everyone does not know:
So raging that not a step
A tree leaf underfoot.
Where it sounds at the end of the alleys
Echoes at the steep slope
And dawn cherry glue
Freezes in the form of a clot.
Autumn. ancient corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure catalog
Flips through the cold.

Why does my dormant mind not enter then?

Derzhavin.

October has already come - the grove is already shaking off
The last leaves from their naked branches;
The autumn chill has died - the road freezes through.
The murmuring stream still runs behind the mill,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor is in a hurry
In the departing fields with his hunt,
And they suffer winter from mad fun,
And the barking of dogs wakes the sleeping oak forests.

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

How fun, shod with sharp iron feet,
Glide on the mirror of stagnant, smooth rivers!
And the brilliant anxieties of the winter holidays?..
But you also need to know honor; half a year snow yes snow,
After all, this is finally the inhabitant of the lair,
Bear, get bored. You can't for a century
We ride in a sleigh with the young Armides
Or sour by the stoves behind the double panes.

Oh, red summer! I would love you
If it weren't for the heat, and dust, and mosquitoes, and flies.
You, destroying all spiritual abilities,
you torment us; like fields, we suffer from drought;
Just how to get drunk, but refresh yourself -
There is no other thought in us, and it is a pity for the winter of the old woman,
And, having spent it with pancakes and wine,
We make a wake for her with ice cream and ice.

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

How to explain it? I like her,
Like a consumptive maiden to you
Sometimes I like it. Condemned to death
The poor thing bows without grumbling, without anger.
The smile on the lips of the faded is visible;
She does not hear the yawn of the grave abyss;
Plays on the face even crimson color.
She is still alive today, not tomorrow.

And every autumn I bloom again;
The Russian cold is good for my health;
I again feel love for the habits of being:
Sleep flies in succession, hunger finds in succession;
Easily and joyfully plays in the heart of blood,
Desires boil - I'm happy again, young,
I am full of life again - this is my body
(Allow me to forgive unnecessary prosaism).

Lead me a horse; in the expanse of the open,
Waving his mane, he carries a 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 a bright light is pouring,
It smolders slowly - and I read before it
Or I feed long thoughts in my soul.

And I forget the world - and in sweet silence
I am 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,
Finally pour out free manifestation -
And then an invisible swarm of guests comes to me,
Old acquaintances, fruits of my dreams.

And the thoughts in my head are worried in courage,
And light rhymes run towards them,
And fingers ask for a pen, pen for paper,
A minute - and the verses will flow freely.
So the ship slumbers motionless in motionless moisture,
But chu! - the sailors suddenly rush, crawl
Up, down - and the sails puffed out, the winds are full;
The mass has moved and cuts through the waves.