Poems about winter are short and beautiful
Winter has come - so welcome, welcome! Either it will flare up with the sun, or it will start to snow. We love winter for warm tea in cozy, bright, pot-bellied mugs.
For how well the snowmen salute us from the end of the alley, And for the warmth of the dear hand that warms our frozen fingers.
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The snow flies like moths and circles above the ground, From the window I watch the beauty in winter. The snow is spinning and spinning, It is silvery like the stars. Like a blank page, a white sheet of new life.
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In the picture of winter, Everything is white with snow: Field, distant hills, Hedge, cart. But sometimes sunspots will flash on it Among the clearings of cotton wool Red-breasted bullfinches.
V. Lunin
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The blizzard covers up the old trail, Everyone after the blizzard singing and howling remains, in general, tete-a-tete with his own soul.
After a blizzard, everyone, even an evil one, lays a new trail with a word, The deeper it is, the longer the blizzard will not blow it out again.
The main thing is that after that Someone will certainly return to those traces, And the frost, the cold king itself, will never make its way into the soul...
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I dreamed of mountains at night... A high mountain, the same one with which we rode yesterday. We rushed through the virgin lands to the nearby village, And at night there was snow and ski tracks, Shiny snow and ski tracks I dreamed about all the time.
A. Barto
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White flakes fly and fly, This is winter leaving its mark. You can see a winter's fairy tale and sweet New Year's dreams. If you believe in the winter fairy tale world, you can understand and see again old dreams. White flakes fly and fly, Understand the fairy tale...
Sh. Shakirov
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White snow flies and swirls, like moths, on everything and everyone, and covers up all traces of the gray autumn bustle. The verse of sad days is finished, And it’s as if the light in the windows is brighter. The white veil of the Soul hides the autumn sadness, And reflects the shine of the moon The breath of a fabulous winter.
N. Planida
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Winter is a charm for the soul. Drifts of wonderful hills. The snow has a wonderful glow. Delights of bright winters. And a trio of gray fire. Yes, with bells under the bow And a song, a mischievous song. Under the silver moon. Winter sorceress is walking. It pleases with its beauty. The soul and heart rest and life is much more fun.
V. Vaganov
Poems about winter and snow: short and beautiful
Victor Lunin
Winter
In the picture of winter, Everything is white with snow: Field, distant hills, Hedge, cart.
But sometimes sunspots will flash on it Among the clearings of cotton wool Red-breasted bullfinches.
Panteleimon Obraztsov
Freezing day
The frost is crackling. The rivers froze. Birch trees by the river are trembling. It is warm here. The fires are crackling in the hot stove.
They will burn, and soon, soon, in the cozy warmth of the room, subtle patterns will melt on the painted glass.
Afanasy Fet
Wonderful picture
A wonderful picture, How dear you are to me: White plain, Full moon,
The light of the high skies, And the shining snow, And the lonely running of distant sleighs.
1842
Ivan Demyanov
Snow woman
Today, from a snowy wet ball, we made a snow woman near the house.
This woman is standing at the very gate - No one will pass, No one will pass.
Adults admire her And children admire her, Her horned hair is blown by the wind.
She is already familiar to all the children, And the Bug keeps barking: “There’s a stranger in the yard!”
Philip Shkulev
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.
Arkady Melnikov
Snowflakes
Snowflakes fly, Almost invisible, There are always so many of them in winter. And here I am a snowflake - I finally caught a fluffy piece of ice with my hand. The crystal piece of ice cried quietly... A tear remained on the warm palm.
Klavdija Bilic
Wizard
Frost is a magician! You can see this right away: I haven’t opened my album yet, But he already painted all the windows for us without brushes, without paints. Overnight!
M. Rodina
Snowflakes
My sister, Marinka, has two snowflakes on her palm. I wanted to show everyone, Lo and behold, there are no snowflakes in sight! Who took the snowflakes from my Marinka?
Alexander Prokofiev
Zimushka-winter
Along the road, in a straight line, Winter walked with frosts, Winter walked to its home - Pink snow lay down.
During the winter, two blizzards blew and swept the snow, blew up the snow as they wanted, and threw crystals.
Alexey Kondratievich Savrasov. Winter. Late 1870s - early 1880s
Poems about snow
The snow is flying, not melting at all, Covering up someone's trail, It's still until spring - God knows... I'll wrap myself in a fluffy blanket.
And through the window into the open spaces I’ll look with one eye, The snow has covered frosty patterns almost during the day...
Snow flies, doesn’t melt at all, Complicating everyday running, Sweeps... Sweeps... Sweeps snow over time...
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When a snowflake suddenly lands on my nose, I ask myself one question: How can this even be, Like snow, tell me, can you not love?
For example, the wind gives a chill, Nectar for honey is a colorful flower, And snow – words cannot express feelings, After all, it’s so great to dream during snowfall!
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Snow-white, cold winter sweeps all the roads and all the houses. It sweeps away, starting its race, And everything is falling from the sky, white snow is falling. And frozen rains are flying from the sky, What is there, beyond the snowfall, ahead. Snow falls on the palms, on the eyes, And a tear will appear from the wind again. And the snowflakes will burn with a touch, And it will become so warm only for a moment. Under the snowdrifts the earth found a place to sleep. And everything is falling from the sky, white snow is falling!
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The snow falls slowly onto the baby’s palms and melts this very minute - instantly disappears. And the child will not understand why it snows, and then suddenly disappears? After all, this doesn’t happen: So that there is and immediately - no, Where can I find the answer to him? The little one thinks stubbornly and calls his mother for help.
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The evening decorated the capital with lights, The lamps burned on poles in a row, The falling snow turned silver in the light, The waltz of snowflakes attracted the eye.
The snow slowly covered the sidewalks, covered the spruce trees from noisy cars, delighting couples in love with its shine, as if he had decided to bring them closer together.
Everywhere there were shop windows inviting you to enter, Warm comfort from the windows beckoning you, Calling you to warm up with a cup of tea, With the spicy smell of ginger and vanilla.
The evening decorated the capital with lights, The snow swirled with its brilliance as a reward, How much do lovers need for joy? In the city, at the magical hour of snowfall!
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Doves took off from the fir trees, Covering the pine cones that had fallen with snow - From the fluffy branches from under the sheepskin coats, That silently covered them with silver!
The swaying branches, like a breeze, disturbed them after a deep sleep. They shook the snow into a shining snowdrift, slightly, but still multiplying it!
How wonderful it is to be among the beauties that surround us in places! And watch as if from the heights of a Christmas tree: Snowflakes falling from the branches sparkle!
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Fluffy snow falls on the ground, dancing its way, As if in a snowy waltz, it spins, inviting you to join it. All the snowflakes are very different: there are both large and small ones - “Daddy’s daughters” have flown by, the “family” is circling in a round dance. The neighbor's dog barks joyfully and opens his mouth to the snowflakes, catches those flying by, dances, plays... But a gusty wind rose, the snow waltz is gaining strength, And according to the dance, like in a ballet, the climax has arrived! The chaotic nature, the throwing of snowflakes - this has its own beauty, and for this special thanks to the choreographer of December.
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I love... When winter comes and the white soft snow swirls. All worries leave the soul, I believe... there will be no more troubles
I love... when snowflakes are on the palm, Delicate... like an angel's feather, Hope returns to the heart, It becomes light in the soul...
I love... when it’s so quiet at night, It’s frosty outside... and yet I’m warm. I know... what winter prophesies for me - Just believe... everything will be fine.
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The snow falls gently and tenderly On the paths, branches and benches, It’s light and serene in my soul, As if guides are leading to Paradise, Smoothly descending to the earth From the clouds that came from the sky, I silently listen to their persuasion, And I’m ready to leave the past...
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And the snow fell... so important and sedate... Without unnecessary pirouettes... from top to bottom... As if he was performing a Chopin etude... Heavenly and diligent... pianist... Honing every sound... to shine... To perfection... rock crystals... And the snow fell... so simply and so weightily... And my soul became... brighter...
Short poems about winter by Russian poets
A wonderful picture, How dear you are to me: White plain, Full moon,
The light of the high skies, And the shining snow, And the lonely running of distant sleighs.
A. Fet
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The snow is fluttering and spinning, It’s white outside. And the puddles turned into cold glass. Where the finches sang in the summer, Look today! - 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.
N. Nekrasov
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Snow fell and everything was forgotten. What was the soul full of! My heart suddenly began to beat faster. It's like I drank wine. Along the narrow street, A clean breeze rushes, The town has been renewed with ancient Russian beauty.
Snow flies on the Church of Sophia. For children, and there are countless of them. Snow is flying all over Russia, Like good news.
N. Rubtsov
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This is my village; This is my home; Here I am sledding along a steep mountain; Here the sled rolls up, and I’m on its side - bang! 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
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The dilapidated hut is 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!
A. Blok
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Snow and snow patterns, In the field - blizzards, conversations, Cold, twilight. Day, skates, mountain, sled, Evening - old wives' tales... Here it is - winter!
A. Fet
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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
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The creaking of footsteps 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
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On the window, silver with frost, chrysanthemums bloomed overnight. In the upper windows there is a bright blue sky and stuck in snow dust. The sun rises, vigorous from the cold, The window glows golden. The morning is quiet, joyful and young, Everything is covered in white snow.
I. Bunin
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White, fluffy snow swirls in the air and quietly falls to the ground and 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, the frosts have arrived - and winter has come...
I. Surikov
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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.
F. Shkulev
LiveInternetLiveInternet
Ivan Zakharovich Surikov (March 25 [April 6] 1841[1]) - April 24 [May 6] 1880) was a Russian self-taught poet, a representative of the “peasant” trend in Russian literature. Author of the textbook poem “Childhood”. Another of his poems, “In the Steppe,” in folk adaptation became the most popular song “Steppe and steppe all around.” Based on his poems, P. I. Tchaikovsky wrote the romance “I was in the field and not a grass was there.”
Winter
White, fluffy snow swirls in the air and quietly falls to the ground and lies down.
And in the morning the Field turned white with snow, as if everything had covered it 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 arrived - and winter has come.
The toiler-peasant pulled out the sleigh, the children are building the snowy mountains.
For a long time now the peasant has been waiting for winter and cold, And he covered the hut with straw from the outside.
So that the wind does not penetrate into the hut through the cracks, snow does not blow into the hut, blizzards and blizzards.
He is now at peace - Everything around is covered, And he is not afraid of the angry frost.
In Russian literature of the 19th and 20th centuries, there is such a direction as peasant poetry, the prominent representatives of which are Sergei Yesenin and Nikolai Nekrasov. Among the authors who glorified rural life in their works is Ivan Surikov, whose name has been undeservedly forgotten these days. The creative heritage of this poet, who was born into the family of a serf peasant, is small, but many of his works are still heard by readers, as they are distinguished by the simplicity of their style, special melody and amazing brightness of images.
Among them, it is worth noting the poem “Winter,” written in 1880, shortly before the death of Surikov, who died in poverty, but until the very last moment he did not lose the ability to admire the world around him and found it perfect even despite what fate did not show to this author special favor. However, the poet never complained about life and was convinced that he had a lucky lot - to be a poet.
The poem “Winter” belongs to the category of landscape lyrics, and its first lines are dedicated to snowfall, which covers the earth with a white and fluffy blanket, transforming the world, making it cleaner and brighter. These lines emanate calm and tranquility, as well as anticipation of the holiday, which is sure to come, if only because winter is coming into its own. The poet describes her arrival very simply and laconically - “here the frosts came - and winter has come.” However, this simple phrase contains the philosophical wisdom of existence, the meaning of which boils down to the fact that we all obey the laws of nature. Therefore, any changes in the world around us should be perceived with joy and enjoy every moment of life, which is filled with amazing charm for those who know how to appreciate simple human joys.
Describing the life of the peasants, the poet notes that on a sunny and frosty winter day they still have enough worries. You need to harness the sleigh and go for firewood, without which it is impossible to survive the cold. At the same time, the villager prepares for winter very thoroughly and in advance; he has long covered the outside of the hut with straw to protect his home from the cold. But in the snowy winter, children have nothing but freedom, and in almost every village “children are building snow mountains.”
Simple rural life is described in this work with restraint and unpretentiousness. The main thing for peasants is to take care of their home, stock up on firewood and food, hay for livestock and warm clothes. This time of year is quite calm for rural residents, and they have time to pay attention to their meager farming and prepare for the upcoming sowing season, on which the well-being of the whole family depends. However, winter, even for a villager, is not without romance. And Ivan Surikov, who spent most of his life in the village, never ceases to be amazed at the beauty of the “dark forest”, which overnight acquired a luxurious and lush cap of snow, white fields and short days, which are replaced by long winter evenings filled with special charm. Only a truly gifted person who knows how to appreciate beauty and selflessly loves his native nature, appreciates peasant life and has a very subtle poetic nature can write so simply and artlessly about complex things. Therefore, it is not surprising that Ivan Surikov is considered one of the brightest and most original poets of the Russian village, who was able to breathe romance into the usual way of rural life and present it in such a way that every reader would want to slide down a high snowy mountain on the outskirts of the village or wander through a sleeping forest , listening to the creaking of snowdrifts and breathing in the frosty, tart air.
Poems about winter for children
I can’t walk or drive, Because it’s icy. But it falls great! Why is no one happy?!
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The snow came with a blizzard - they can’t sit still! They're circling, circling like a carousel - Inviting you to have fun!
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Like white fluffs, snowflakes are falling from the sky. This is winter-winter, Decorating the forest and houses!
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Everyone is cold in winter, they run indoors faster. The sun remains. Who will warm him?
It used to be warm, We were glad of the sun. And now they admire the Snowfall Dance.
I’ll draw a sun in my album, And it’s as if the house will become brighter.
I’ll write a note, - I already know how: Don’t be sad, honey! I'll warm you.
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Three people on a snowy clearing: Me, Winter and a sled. Only the snow will cover the ground - The three of us gather. Having fun in the clearing - Me, Winter and sleigh.
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Frost is a magician! You can see this right away: I haven’t opened my album yet, but he has already painted all the windows for us overnight without brushes, without paints!
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The city is covered with snow, Frost hangs like lace... Boris clears the snow from the porch to the fence. And with a shovel in her hands, Marinka is next to him. The heat glows on the cheeks - The path is getting longer and longer. And the ears are not cold, Just as the frost is not angry, If only the kids want to work.
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Decorated the houses with a snowy winter. I happily hung tinsel on the trees. I rubbed the ice until it sparkled - Soon the holiday will come to us!
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Run out quickly to look at the bullfinches. They arrived, they arrived, the flock was greeted by snowstorms! And Frost the Red Nose brought them rowan trees. Well treated, well sweetened. Late winter evening Bright scarlet clusters.
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Well, winter!.. Snowdrifts, cold, Sweeps, twists, winds, Burns with frost, chokes with ice, Drives into a hot house. A flashy Christmas tree will flutter into the house almost like a dragonfly. It will fluff up, laugh, and shed snowy moisture.
Pushkin's poems about winter
The moon makes its way through the wavy fogs, It pours a sad light onto the sad meadows. Along the winter, boring road, Three greyhounds are running, The monotonous bell is rattling tiresomely.
Something familiar is heard in the long songs of the coachman: Now daring revelry, Now heartfelt melancholy...
No fire, no black hut... Wilderness and snow... Towards me Only miles of stripes Come across one.
Boring, sad... Tomorrow, Nina, Tomorrow, returning to my dear one, I will 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.
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Winter morning
Frost and sun; 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 dark clouds, And you sat sad - And now... look out the window:
Under 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.
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That year the autumn weather... (from the poem “Eugene Onegin”)
That year, the autumn weather Stood for a long time in the yard, Winter was waiting, nature was waiting. Snow fell only in January on the third night. Waking up early, Tatyana saw through the window a whitened courtyard in the morning, Curtains, roofs and a fence, Light patterns on the glass, Trees in winter silver, Forty merry ones in the yard And the softly covered mountains of Winter with a brilliant carpet. Everything is bright, everything is white all around.
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Winter evening
The storm covers the sky with darkness, spinning snow whirlwinds; Then she will howl like an animal, Then she will cry like a child, Then she will suddenly rustle with straw on the dilapidated roof, Then, like a belated traveler, she will knock 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.
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Now it’s my time... (excerpt from the poem)
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 am more pleased with the harsh winter, I love its snow; in the presence of the moon How the light running of a sleigh with a friend is fast and free, When under the sable, warm and fresh, She shakes your hand, flaming and trembling! How fun it is, shod with sharp iron on your feet, to 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, even the inhabitant of the den, the Bear, will finally get tired of it. It’s impossible for us to ride in sleighs with the young Armids for a whole century, or to sour at the stoves behind double glass.
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Here is the north, the clouds are catching up... (from the poem “Eugene Onegin”)
Here the north, driving up the clouds, breathed, howled - and here comes the sorceress-winter, she came, she crumbled; Hanged in clumps on the branches of oak trees, Lay down in wavy carpets Among the fields around the hills. The river has leveled the river like a plump veil; The frost has flashed, and we are glad for the pranks of Mother Winter.
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Neater than fashionable parquet... (from the poem “Eugene Onegin”)
Neater than fashionable parquet The river shines, dressed in ice. The joyful people of the boys cut the ice sonorously with their skates; The goose is heavy on red paws, Having decided to swim along the bosom of the waters, Steps carefully onto the ice, Slides and falls; The cheerful first snow flashes and curls, falling like stars onto the shore.
Poems about winter by Russian poets
We decided to open the selection of favorite poems about winter with the poem “Winter” by the self-taught Russian poet, representative of the so-called “peasant” trend in Russian literature, Ivan Zakharovich Surikov.
The main themes of Surikov's poetry were: the life of ordinary peasants and the urban poor, as well as beautiful pictures of the rich Russian nature.
Ivan Surikov
Winter
White, fluffy snow swirls in the air and quietly falls to the ground and 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, the frosts have arrived, and winter has come.
The toiler-peasant pulled out the sleigh, the children are building the snowy mountains.
For a long time now the peasant has been waiting for winter and cold, And he covered the hut with straw from the outside.
So that the wind does not penetrate into the hut through the cracks, snow does not blow into the hut, blizzards and blizzards.
He is now at peace - Everything around is covered, And he is not afraid of the angry frost.
1880
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov is a Russian poet and prose writer, a classic of Russian literature, familiar to many admirers of the great poet’s talent from a very young age.
Nekrasov wrote a lot and simply about the life of peasants and village children. The poem “Peasant Children” was written and published in the magazine “Time” in 1961. This work is considered to be the poet’s calling card.
Nikolay Nekrasov
Once upon a time in the cold winter time
(excerpt from the poem “Peasant Children”)
...One day, in the cold winter season, I came out of the forest; it was bitterly cold. I see a horse slowly ascending the mountain, carrying a cart of brushwood. And, walking importantly, in decorous calm. The horse is led by the bridle by a man in big boots, in a short sheepskin coat, in big mittens... and he himself is as tall as a fingernail! - Great, lad! - “Go past!” “You’re so formidable, as I can see!” Where do the firewood come from? - “From the forest, of course; Father, you hear, chops, and I take it away.” (A woodcutter’s ax was heard in the forest.) “What, does your father have a big family?” - “It’s a big family, but two people. Just men: my father and I...” - So that’s it! What's your name? - “Vlas.” - How old are you? - “The sixth has passed... Well, she’s dead!” - the little one shouted in a deep voice. He pulled the reins and walked faster...
1861
Ivan Andreevich Pelevin. Children in a sleigh. 1870
Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin is a great Russian poet, playwright and prose writer. The founder of the modern Russian literary language.
The poet wrote delightfully not only about the soul-stirring fading, but beautiful autumn season, but also about winter.
The author wrote the poem “Winter Evening” while in exile in Mikhailovsky in 1825. Perhaps the only relative next to the poet in that harsh winter was Pushkin’s nanny, Arina Rodionovna.
Alexander Pushkin
Winter evening
The storm covers the sky with darkness, spinning snow whirlwinds; Then she will howl like an animal, Then she will cry like a child, Then she will suddenly rustle with straw on the dilapidated roof, Then, like a belated traveler, she will knock 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.
1825
We recommend ⇒ Nursery rhymes for the New Year and Happy New Year 2021 for friends and colleagues
Konstantin Dmitrievich Balmont is a Russian symbolist poet. One of the greatest representatives of Russian poetry of the Silver Age.
The first years of the poet's life were spent in the village, where, thanks to the efforts of his parents, he learned to see the beauty of Russian nature, music and words.
Konstantin Balmont
Snowflake
Light fluffy, white snowflake, so pure, so brave!
On the stormy road it easily rushes, not to the azure heights, but asks to land on the ground.
She left the wonderful azure, cast herself into an unknown Land.
In the shining rays Slides, skillfully, Among the melting flakes, Preservedly white.
Under the blowing wind it trembles, flutters, on it, cherishing, it sways lightly.
With his swings She is comforted, With his blizzards She spins wildly.
But then the long road ends, the crystal star touches the earth.
A fluffy, brave snowflake lies. How pure, how white!
1903
Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet is a great Russian lyric poet.
The poet loved and understood nature and natural phenomena. Therefore, mainly in Fet’s lyrics there are poems about the beauty of nature and its perfection.
Poem “Mom! Look from the window,” written by the poet in 1887, will later become a textbook. It teaches you to love nature at any time of the year, since each of them is beautiful in its own way.
Afanasy Fet
Mother! look out the window
Mother! 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! It’s like someone with fresh, white, plump cotton wool removed everything from the bushes.
Now there will be no argument: It’s fun to run behind the sled and up the hill! Really, mom? You won’t refuse, but you yourself will probably say: “Well, hurry up and go for a walk!”
1887
Nikolai Efimovich Timkov. Russian Winter. 1969
Sergei Vladimirovich Mikhalkov is a man of the era, Russian and Soviet poet, playwright, fabulist, public figure.
The greatest popularity and love of readers was brought to the poet by his works for children.
Sergey Mikhalkov
Blank verses
The snow is spinning, the snow is falling - Snow! Snow! Snow! Animals and birds are happy about the snow and, of course, people!
The gray tits are happy: The birds are freezing in the cold, The snow has fallen - the frost has fallen! The cat washes its nose with snow. The puppy has white snowflakes melting on his black back.
The sidewalks are covered in snow, Everything around is white-white: Snow-snow-snowfall! Enough work for shovels, For shovels and scrapers, For big trucks.
The snow is spinning, the snow is falling - Snow! Snow! Snow! Animals and birds are happy about the snow and, of course, people!
Only the janitor, only the janitor Says: “I will never forget this Tuesday!” Snowfall is a disaster for us! The scraper scrapes all day long, the broom sweeps all day long. A hundred sweats have left me, And everything is white again! Snow! Snow! Snow!
1960
In the poem “Winter Morning,” Pushkin shares with us the idea that a person is surrounded by beauty at any time of the year. And it is important to admire the world and all its wonders at every moment of life.
Alexander Pushkin
Winter morning
Frost and sun; wonderful day! You are still dozing, lovely friend - It’s time, beauty, wake up: Open your closed eyes 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 dark clouds, And you sat sad - And now... look out the window:
Under 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 an impatient horse And visit the empty fields, The forests that were recently so dense, And the shore, dear to me
1829
Sergei Aleksandrovich Yesenin is a great Russian poet, representative of new peasant poetry and lyrics.
New Peasant Poets is a conventional collective name for a group of Russian poets of the Silver Age of peasant origin.
The poem “Winter Sings and Calls” was written by the poet at the age of fifteen, at the very beginning of his creative career.
Sergey Yesenin
Winter sings and echoes
Winter sings and calls, the shaggy forest lulls
The ringing sound of a pine forest. 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's painfully cold. Playful sparrows, like lonely children, huddled near the window.
The little birds are cold, hungry, tired,
And they huddle tighter. And the blizzard, with a furious roar, knocks on the hanging shutters and gets angrier and angrier.
And gentle birds sleep under these snowy whirlwinds
At the frozen window. And they dream of a beautiful, clear, beautiful spring in the smiles of the sun.
1910
New Peasant Poets is a conditional collective name for a group of Russian poets of the Silver Age of peasant origin.
Young Yesenin wrote the poem “Porosh” in 1914. At that time, the poet was in Moscow and was very homesick for his native village, for nature, for the endless fields and forests of his beloved land.
Sergey Yesenin
Porosha
I'm going. Quiet. Ringing can be heard under the hoof in the snow. Only the gray crows made noise in the meadow.
Bewitched by the invisible, The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep. A pine tree is tied like a white scarf.
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. The snow is falling and the shawl is laying down. The endless road runs away like a ribbon into the distance.
1914
Valery Yakovlevich Bryusov is a Russian Silver Age poet, prose writer and playwright. In addition, Bryusov translated foreign authors, published magazines and directed a literary institute. Bryusov, one of the founders of Russian symbolism.
Valery Bryusov
Evening among the snow
The gentle coolness of the coming winter is blowing. The freshness body is so happy! The eyes of whiteness need it so much In the clear frame of semi-darkness! Over the bright snowy plain the Moon casts its spell in the sky. Everything is serene, like in childhood; Everything, as in death, is inevitable, No desires, no grudges. My path winds into infinity Between the fields, like darkness, empty. There is sweet carelessness in thoughts, And dreams are caressed by the encounter of familiar and simple rhymes.
1907
Samuil Yakovlevich Marshak is a Soviet poet, playwright, and author of popular children's books.
Samuel Marshak
Seasons. December
(excerpt from the poem “Seasons”)
In December, in December All the trees are in silver.
Our river, as if in a fairy tale, was paved with frost overnight, renewed skates and sleds, and brought a Christmas tree from the forest.
The tree cried at first from the warmth of home, in the morning it stopped crying, began to breathe, came to life.
Its needles are trembling slightly, the lights are lit on the branches. Like on a ladder, on a Christmas tree, the lights run up.
Firecrackers sparkle with gold. The bravest light that reached the top of the head lit the star with silver.
A year has passed like yesterday, Over Moscow at this hour the clock of the Kremlin tower is striking its fireworks - twelve times!
1945
Maria Pozharova
Winter has brightened up
Winter is decorated: There is a fringe on the headdress made of transparent ice floes, snowflakes stars.
All in diamonds, pearls, in multi-colored lights, radiance pours around, whispers a spell:
- Lie down, soft snows, on the forests and meadows, cover the paths, put down the branches!
On the windows, Santa Claus, Scatter crystal roses, Light visions, Cunning gossip.
You, blizzard, miracle, start round dances of the backwaters, soar like a white whirlwind into the gray field!
Sleep, my land, sleep, Keep your magical dreams: Wait, dressed in brocade, for the New dawn!
Sasha Cherny (Alexander Mikhailovich Glikberg) is a famous literary figure, Silver Age poet, prose writer, and journalist. Author of popular lyrical and satirical poetic feuilletons. In parallel with topical poems, Sasha Cherny created works for children both in Russia and when he lived in exile.
Sasha Cherny
Winter is the most fun
In winter, the most fun is to sit by the stove by the red coals, eat hot cakes, climb into a snowdrift with boot tops, skate around the whole pond and immediately crash into bed.
In the spring it’s more fun to shout among the green fields, sit on a hill with a barbosa and think about the white winter, break fluffy willows and throw stones into the lake.
And in the summer, it’s most fun to bite Cherry glue, swim, float up on the wave, chase a squirrel from pine to pine, light fires by the river, and pick cornflowers in the field...
But autumn is even more fun! Now you pluck plums from the branches, Now you pick peas in the garden, Now you grow moss with a fork... The thresher is knocking in the distance - And the rye on the carts reaches the ground...
1920
Alexander Alekseevich Buchkuri. Christmas market. 1906
Quatrains about winter
The winter-winter races in an icy carriage. The wind knocks with its wings on sleepy houses. Squares and parks bloom in snowy whiteness. And the frost erects arches over the forest path.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Snow, snow is swirling, the whole street is white! We gathered in a circle, Spun around like a snowball.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
There is a birch tree in a cape, the fringe rings on the branches. The lighter, the softer the snowflakes - The colder the winter is!
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Where did the bullfinches go that flew into the garden? Yes, here they are, look, look - on the boys’ cheeks.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The bitter frost is bitter, It’s dark outside; Silvery frost Flushed the window.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
For all the kids, Santa Claus paints their cheeks and paints their nose! The yard was covered with fluffy snow and filled with children's laughter!
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
I am Winter. I love frost. I make people cry. And I don’t waste them myself. However, when I leave, I cry.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Sun, since dawn you have been sucking this icicle. Eat your lollipop quickly so that winter can come to an end!
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
It’s so good to lie in a snowdrift, Think and dream about something, And down the icy road, Sliding, run, run, run.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
White frost clung to the bushes, Spruce trees, pines are silvered with it... A day of extraordinary beauty, The world of the earth, renewed in winter!
Brief Analysis
Before reading this analysis, we recommend that you familiarize yourself with the poem Winter.
History of writing - The poem was written in 1880.
The theme of the poem is the beauty of the winter landscape, a reflection of the life of peasants.
Composition - The composition is consistent, harmonious, the poem is divided into two semantic parts: a description of the winter landscape and peasant life.
Genre – Lyric poem.
Poetic meter - Trochee trimeter with cross rhyme, feminine rhyme.
Epithets – “fluffy”, “angry”, “angry”.
Metaphors – “snow mountains”.
Personifications - “the forest fell asleep”, “frost has come”.
Comparisons - “like a veil, everything covered her;.
Yesenin's poems about winter
Oh you sleigh...
Oh you sleigh! And the horses, the horses! Apparently the devil brought them to earth. In the rollicking steppe acceleration, the Bell laughs to the point of tears. No moon, no dog barking in the distance, off to the side, in the wasteland. Support me, my life is daring, I have not aged forever.
Sing, coachman, in defiance of this night, If you want, I myself will sing to you About the wicked eyes of a girl, About my cheerful youth.
Eh, it happened that you would twist your hat, and lay your horse in the shafts, and lay down an armful of hay, - Just remember what my name was.
And where did the posture come from, And in the midnight silence, the talkative Talyanka persuaded more than one.
Everything is over. My hair has thinned. The horse died, our yard was empty. Talyanka lost her voice, having forgotten how to carry on a conversation.
But still my soul has not cooled down, Snow and frost are so pleasant to me, Because over everything that happened, the bell laughs to the point of tears.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Birch
The white birch tree under my window is 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 snowflakes burn in golden fire.
And the dawn, lazily going around, sprinkles the branches with new silver.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Waiting for winter
Under the autumn aspen trees, the Bunny says to the bunny: “Look how our aspen tree is entwined with cobwebs.” White threads flashed, a leaf in the oak grove turned red; Through the dead trees you can hear someone's howling and whistling. The winter is coming angrily - Woe to the poor beast! Let's hasten to bleach our fur coat before her arrival. - Under the autumn aspen trees Friends hugged each other, silent... Turned their backs to the sun - Gray fur coats are whitened.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Winter sings and echoes
Winter sings and calls, The shaggy forest lulls with the ringing of the pine forest. 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.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Porosha
I'm going. Quiet. Ringing sounds are heard. Under the hoof in the snow, Only the gray crows made noise in the meadow. Bewitched by the invisible, The forest slumbers under the fairy tale of sleep, Like a white scarf, a pine tree is tied up.
She bent down like an old woman, leaned on a stick, and just above the top of her head a woodpecker was hammering on a branch.
The horse is galloping, there is a lot of space, the snow is falling and the shawl is spreading. The endless road runs away like a ribbon into the distance.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Winter
Autumn has already flown away, and winter has rushed in. As if on wings, she suddenly flew invisibly. Now the frosts crackled and shackled all the ponds. And the boys shouted thanks to her for her efforts.
Now patterns appeared on the glass of wondrous beauty. Everyone's eyes were fixed on this. From high
The snow is falling, flickering, curling, laying down like a great veil. Here the sun blinks in the clouds, And the frost sparkles on the snow.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
You are my fallen maple, icy maple...
You are my fallen maple, you are an icy maple, Why are you standing bent over under the white snowstorm? Or what did you see? Or what did you hear? It’s as if you went out for a walk outside the village.
And, like a drunken watchman, going out onto the road, He drowned in a snowdrift and froze his leg.
Oh, and now I myself have somehow become unstable, I won’t make it home from a friendly drinking party.
There I met a willow, there I noticed a pine tree, I sang songs to them during the snowstorm about summer.
I seemed to myself to be the same maple tree, only not fallen, but completely green.
And, having lost his modesty, having become stupefied, Like a stranger’s wife, he hugged the birch tree.
POEMS about winter
Poems about winter for children
In this selection of winter poems for children in the middle group of kindergarten you will find works by classics of Russian literature, A. S. Pushkin, N. A. Nekrasov, F. I. Tyutchev, I. A. Bunin, I. Z. Surikov and other domestic poets.
Poems about a cold winter morning, poems about the beauty of winter, poems about a winter road, poems about the beauty of winter nature, poems about winter fun, poems about the first snow. All poems are selected for preschoolers aged four and five years, and those marked with an asterisk are recommended for memorization.
Winter*
I. Surikov
White fluffy snow swirls in the air and quietly falls to the ground and lies down.
And in the morning the Field turned white with snow, as if everything had covered it 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 arrived - and winter has come.
Enchantress Winter...*
F. Tyutchev
Bewitched by the Enchantress of Winter, the forest stands, And under the snowy fringe, motionless, mute, it glitters with a wonderful life.
And he stands, bewitched, neither dead nor alive - enchanted by a magical dream, all entangled, all bound with a light downy chain...
Is the winter sun casting its slanting ray on it - Nothing will tremble in it, It will all flare up and sparkle with dazzling beauty.
First snow
Y. Akim
In the morning the cat brought the first snow on its paws! First snow! It has the Taste and smell of the first snow! First snow! He is spinning, Light, New, Over the guys' heads, He managed to spread a downy scarf on the pavement, He turns white Along the fence, Nestled on a lantern, - So, soon, Very soon, the sled will fly down the hills, So, it will be possible to Build a fortress again in the yard !
By ski*
A. Vvedensky
The whole earth is covered in snow, I'm running on skis, you're running after me. Good in the forest in winter:
The sky is bright blue, Spruce and pine trees are covered in frost, Snow sparkles underfoot. Hey guys, who's behind us?
Winter morning*
A. Pushkin
...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...
Chrysanthemums
I. Bunin
On the window, silver with frost, As if chrysanthemums were blooming. In the upper windows there is a bright blue sky and stuck in snow dust.
The sun rises, vigorous from the cold, The window glows golden. The morning is quiet, joyful and young, everything is covered in white snow.
And all the morning I will see bright and clear colors in the heights, And until noon there will be silvery Chrysanthemums on my window.
The snowstorm is sweeping...
S. Yesenin
The snowstorm sweeps the White Path. He wants to drown in the soft snow. The playful wind fell asleep On the way: Neither pass through the forest, nor pass through.
Here is the north, the clouds are catching up*
A. Pushkin
Here the north, driving up the clouds, breathed, howled - and here comes the winter sorceress 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 covered the river with a plump veil, and the frost flashed. And we are glad for the pranks of Mother Winter.
Blanket
A. Korinfsky
- Why, dear, does it snow in winter? - Nature weaves a blanket from it! - A blanket, mom?.. What is it for?!. - Without it, the earth would become cold!.. - And who, dear, would look for warmth in it?!. - To those who will have to spend the winter: Little seeds, grains of bread, roots of blades of cereals and flowers!..
Winter song
3. Alexandrova
White lawn, Warm sweatshirt. I'll run on skis - you catch me!
On the birch trees there are bullfinches Brighter than the morning dawn, Blue tits, Snow on the mittens!
White path, Wait a little. Is someone walking behind the bush? A hare or a cat?
If the cat walks, let it! If it's a hare, I'm not afraid! If there is a wolf and a bear, we will not go further!
Winter night in the village
I. Nikitin
The Moon shines merrily over the village; White snow sparkles with a blue light. The temple of God is bathed in the rays of the moon; The cross under the clouds burns like a candle. Empty, lonely Sleepy village; The huts were swept deep by the blizzards. Silence is silent in the empty streets, and you can’t hear the barking of the watchdogs.
Childhood (excerpt)
I. Surikov
This is my village; This is my home; Here I am sledding along a steep mountain;
Here the sled rolls up, and I’m on its side - bang! I'm rolling head over heels downhill into a snowdrift.
And my boy friends, standing above me, laugh merrily at my misfortune.
Snow covered my whole face and hands... I'm in grief in the snowdrift, But the guys are laughing!..
Winter road*
A. Pushkin
The moon makes its way through the wavy fogs, It pours a sad light onto the sad meadows. Along the winter, boring road, Three greyhounds are running, The monotonous bell is rattling tiresomely. Something familiar is heard in the long songs of the coachman: Now daring revelry, Now heartfelt melancholy...
Winter*
Ya Kupala
So recently the sun was peeping through our window every day. And now the time has come - The blizzard has sprung into the field. She ran away with a ringing song, covered everything like a diaper, fluffed it up with snow fluff - It became empty and deaf everywhere. The river does not ring like a wave Under icy clothes; The forest is silent, looks sad, You can’t hear the busy birds.
Neater than fashionable parquet...*
A. Pushkin
Neater than fashionable parquet, The river shines, dressed in ice; The joyful people of the boys cut the ice sonorously with their skates; The goose is heavy on red paws, Having decided to swim along the bosom of the waters, Steps carefully onto the ice. Slips and falls; The cheerful first snow flashes and curls, falling like stars onto the shore.
Snowflakes
A. Usachev
The hedgehog looks at the snowflakes. “These,” he thinks, “are hedgehogs... White, prickly, and also flying.”
The spider on the web also looks at the snowflakes: “Look how brave these white flies are!”
The hare looks at the snowflakes: “These are hare fluffs... Apparently, the hare is covered in fluff - Scratching his fur coat upstairs.”
The boy looks at the snowflakes: “Perhaps these are little funny ones?..” He won’t understand why. He’s having a lot of fun.
Snowflakes
S. Kozlov
Outside the window there is a blizzard, Outside the window there is darkness, Looking at each other, They sleep in the snow at home.
And the snowflakes are spinning - They don’t care at all! - In light dresses with lace, With a bare shoulder.
The teddy bear sleeps in his corner and listens with half an ear to the Blizzard outside the window.
Old, gray-haired, with an ice stick, Blizzard hobbles like Baba Yaga.
And the snowflakes are spinning - They don’t care at all! - In light dresses with lace, With a bare shoulder.
Thin legs - soft boots, white shoe - ringing heels.
Bullfinches
A. Prokofiev
Run out quickly to look at the bullfinches. They arrived, they arrived, the flock was greeted by snowstorms! And Frost the Red Nose brought them rowan trees. Well sweetened on a late winter evening with bright scarlet grapes.
Snowball*
N. Nekrasov
The snow is fluttering and spinning, It’s white outside. And the puddles turned into cold glass.
Where the finches sang in the summer, Look today! - 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.
Cautious snow
V. Stepanov
Midnight snow, He is in no hurry. He walks slowly, But the snow knows that it will fall somewhere anyway. And the slower he walked, the more careful he was, the softer he fell into the darkness and did not wake us up.
Snow woman
A. Brodsky
We made the snow woman to perfection. For glory, for glory, for your own amusement. She looks at us with black eyes, As if laughing with two embers. Although Our woman is standing with a broom, But don’t let her seem evil to you. We put a bucket instead of a hat on her... The game is more fun with a snow woman.
Snowman
T. Petukhova
Our favorite snowman, His head completely drooped: The hare took him into the forest at night. He has a carrot nose! Don’t be sad, snowman, We will help you in trouble in a moment, We’ll give you a new nose, A good nose, a spruce nose!
Winter
V. Stepanov
The road is white, white. Winter has come. Winter has come. I wear a white hat, I breathe white air, my eyelashes are white, my coat and mittens are white, you can’t tell me apart in the cold among the whitening birches. I'll freeze. And the squirrel in silence suddenly jumps into my arms.
Winter on the edge
I. Gurina
The small Christmas tree has green needles. Fragrant, fluffy, silvery from the snow!
A pine cone fell from the Christmas tree onto the cowardly bunny! He runs along the path, his tail and back flash.
A fox wanders nearby and is proud of its tail. On a high snowy slope, an horned elk, as if wearing a crown!
On green branches, bleached with frost, like scarlet beads, small bullfinches.
The edge is flooded with sun, Squirrel, my red-haired friend, came to visit the Christmas tree and brought nuts.
All year round. January
S. Marshak
Open the calendar - January begins.
In January, in January There is a lot of snow in the yard.
Snow - on the roof, on the porch. The sun is in the blue sky. In our house the stoves are heated, smoke rises into the sky in a column.
I know what I need to come up with
A. Barto
I know what I need to come up with, So that there will be no more winter, So that instead of high snowdrifts, There will be green hills around.
I look into the green glass, And immediately winter turns into summer.
Winter
E. Rusakov
The ponds are shackled until March, But how warm the houses are! Winter wraps the gardens in snowdrifts. Snow falls from the birches in drowsy silence. Pictures of summer frost Draws on the window.
Poems about winter for preschoolers 5-6 years old
When it’s New Year, and when there are tangerines, When it smells like a Christmas tree or pine, When there are patterns and pictures on all the windows, When you can fall headfirst into a snowdrift!
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The grass turned yellow and the leaves fell. The snow seems to be fluffy. And the time will come to us, and winter will come. And the morning will be frosty.
Frost will draw many roses on the window. Snow-white fluffy snowflakes. And our good friend frost will sprinkle a bunch of festive white ice floes around.
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A snowball falls quietly - Light flakes fly, Covering both the village and the meadow with soft fluff.
The frost has receded a little, it has become warmer to everyone's joy; Covers the sled track with fresh snow - clean, white...
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Ah, winter, winter, the witch, has turned the forest into a fairy tale! Throws snow without hesitation, So that the road path disappears.
In new, white boots, winter wanders through the forest, She has her own paths - She won’t get lost.
I gave fur coats to the Christmas trees, so that they would not freeze in the wind, and spread the tail of the fox, so that it would close the hole.
Singing a song with the wind, A blizzard creeps through the snow, Freezing in a white dance, Winter also begins to spin.
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An unusual day today - Everything has become white and white! As if in a New Year's fairy tale, the ground was covered with snow!
The first snow sparkles everywhere and glitters in the sun, silvers on the trees, like light fluff flies...
All the paths have turned white, And the benches, and the houses, The snow is swirling outside the window, - Hello, Zimushka-Winter!
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On a silent winter night, Gray-haired Frost cast a spell - Under the yellow, full moon, Drawing for you and me.
And when the red sun rose on a January morning, the wonderful snow-white glass sparkled in the windows!
And the pattern on it sparkles with a bright rainbow fire, like the feathers of a wondrous bird scattered outside the window!..
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The blizzard is spinning, the fluffy snow is spreading, the frost is running ahead, for Winter it is building bridges across rivers and lakes, you know, she will appear soon in a bright snow-white fur coat. Gifts will be given to everyone: For the windows - painted glass, For the fields - downy shawls, For the trees and bushes - handkerchiefs, For the stumps - hats with trim, For the hills - gloss for undertakings, And undertakings - for children! Snowmen will stand in a row. Hot days await them!
Poems about snowflakes
We are snowflakes, we are fluffs, We don’t mind spinning. We are ballerina snowflakes, We dance day and night. Let's stand together in a circle - It turns out to be a snowball. We whitewashed the trees, covered the roofs with down. They covered the earth with velvet and saved it from the cold.
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Light fluffy, white snowflake, so pure, so brave!
On the stormy road it easily rushes, not to the azure heights, but asks to land on the ground.
She left the wonderful azure, cast herself into an unknown Land.
In the shining rays Slides, skillfully, Among the melting flakes, Preservedly white.
Under the blowing wind it trembles, flutters, on it, cherishing, it sways lightly.
With his swings She is comforted, With his blizzards She spins wildly.
But then the long road ends, the crystal star touches the earth.
A fluffy, brave snowflake lies. How pure, how white!
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The hedgehog looks into the sky: What kind of miracles are these? Hedgehogs fly in the sky, and if you take them in your hands, they melt. Hedgehogs White snowflakes.
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The wind sings a song at the edge of the forest, calling me to dance in a round dance with my friends.
Wind, wind, blow harder, so that the ice circle - the little snowflake - can dance more joyfully.
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A snowflake fell onto my palm, I will warm it with my breath a little. Snowflake, have you decided to play hide and seek? I can’t see you on my palm.
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Who knits snowflakes and throws them from the sky? Even my mother doesn’t know such patterns And I’ve never seen yarn like this anywhere - Our city is all white, slightly blue.
Or maybe they are cut out of chintz and quietly lowered onto my eyelashes? They slowly melt like tears on your cheeks... Where do snowflakes come from? Does anyone know?
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The snowflake smoothly descended into the palm, whispering quietly: “Don’t touch me. Blow carefully and I will fly away - I want to rise to the blue sky.”
The first fluffy and white snowball is a bright winter miracle, my friend.
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We are funny snowflakes, We fly like fluff! We are wearing carved hats, We are wearing lace skirts! If it’s cold around, we’ll spin around merrily, If it suddenly becomes warm, we’ll turn into rain.
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Snowflakes fall from the sky like moths. With my left hand I will carefully catch the white fluffs. I’ll hide it with my right palm and shake it. Sleep, my little ones! Where are my snowflakes? Dad, look! There are only tears here!
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White snowflake, Light fluff, Where did you come to us from and bring your girlfriends? Now they are all spinning in a whirlwind of a waltz above the earth. Children of Santa Claus and an icy blizzard.
