Poems about autumn are short and beautiful for children in kindergarten and school. Poems about the fall of Russian classical poets - quatrains

Flying, flying rain,

You will not leave the gate.

On the wet path

The raw fog crawls.

In the sadened pines

And the Fire Rowan

Goes and sows autumn

Scented mushrooms!

Autumn,

Autumn...

The sun

In the clouds damp -

Even at noon it shines

Dimly and timidly.

From the cold grove

In field,

On the path,

Blowed out a little rabbit -

The first

Snowflake.

It rains down the street,

Wet road,

Many drops on the glass,

A little heat.

Like autumn mushrooms,

We wear umbrellas,

Because in the yard

Autumn has come.

If the rain is pouring,

I take an umbrella with me,

Very bright and big,

Yellow-red-blue.

Whoever will meet,

Very surprised.

The people are talking around:

"That's a miracle, the umbrella is coming!"

Even a little bit offensive,

What I do not see ...

Here is a maple leaf on the branch.

Now it is quite new!

All ruddy, golden.

Where are you, leaflet? Wait!

After the summer, autumn comes,

Quiet songs, the wind sings to her.

Red under the feet stellet foliage,

A white snowflake flies into the blue.

Boring picture!

Clouds without end,

The rain is pouring down,

Puddles by the porch ...

Rotten ash

Wet under the window,

Looks at the village

A gray spot.

That you are early to visit,

Autumn, has she come to us?

Still asks the heart

Light and warmth! ....

Summer passed,

Autumn has come.

In the fields and in the groves

Empty and sad.

The birds flew away,

The days were shorter,

The sun is not visible,

Dark, dark nights.

Autumn has come,

Flowers dried up,

And they look sadly

Naked bushes.

Withers and turns yellow

Grass in the meadows,

Only green

Winter in the fields.

The cloud covers the sky,

The sun does not shine,

The wind howls in the field,

The rain drizzles ..

Water rustled

The rapid brook,

Birds flew away

In the warmer parts.

Dull time! Oche charm!

I like your farewell beauty -

I love the magnificent nature of withering,

In crimson and gold clad forests,

In their vestibule of the wind a noise and fresh breath,

And the darkness of the wavy covered the heavens,

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

And distant gray winter threats.

October has already come - the grove is already shaking off

The last sheets are from their naked branches;

The autumn cold has died. The road freezes.

Zhurcha is still running behind the windmill stream,

But the pond is already frozen; my neighbor hurries

In leaving the fields with his own desire,

And they are suffering from the winter from the wild fun,

And waking dogs barking asleep oak trees.

The sky was breathing in autumn,

The sun shone less often.

Shorter became the day,

Forests mysterious shadow

With a sad noise,

Fog went to the fields,

The geese of the screaming caravan

I went to the south: I was approaching

Quite a boring time;

It was November at the yard.

Quiet in the juniper on the precipice.

Autumn, red mare, scratches manes.

Above the riverbed of shores

A blue clank of her horseshoes is heard.

Syclinic-wind step careful

Folds foliage along the projections by road

And he kisses the rowan bush

Sores red to the invisible Christ.

The golden foliage

In pinkish water on a pond,

Like butterflies, an easy flock

With zamyranem flies on a star.

Today I'm in love with this evening,

The yellowing dol is close to the heart.

The boy is wind on his shoulders

He hung a hem on the birch.

And in the soul and in the valley cool,

Blue twilight as a herd of sheep,

For the wicket of the smoldering garden

The tambourine will peal and die.

I've never been thrifty

So I did not listen to intelligent flesh,

It would be nice, like a willow branch,

To dive into the pinkness of the waters.

It would be nice, on a stack smiling,

Mermaid hay for a month ...

Where are you, where, my quiet joy,

All the love, nothing to desire?

Good for autumn freshness

I shake the Soul-apple tree with the wind

And watch how the river cuts

The water is the blue sun of the plow.

Good knocking out of the body

The nail's a nagging song.

And in clothes festively white

Wait for the guest to knock.

I study, I study with my heart

Color cherry in the eyes of cherish,

Only in stinginess feelings are heated,

When the ribs break the leak.

The star belfry is quietly silent,

No leaf, no candle.

I will not let anyone in the room,

I will not open the door to anyone.

Is in the fall of the original

A short but wonderful time -

The whole day is as if crystal,

And the evening is radiant ...

Where a cheerful sickle walked and fell an ear,

Now everything is empty - the space is everywhere, -

Only cobwebs of thin hair

Shines on an idle furrow.

The air is empty, birds can not be heard more,

But far before the first winter storms -

And pours clear and warm azure

On a resting field ...

Autumn late at times

I love the Tsarskoe Selo Gardens,

When he is quiet half-

As if drowsiness, obyat

And the white-winged visions

On the dim glass lake

In some kind of bliss of oneness

They are growing in this half-dark ...

And on the porphyry steps

Catherine's palaces

Falling gloomy shadows

October early evenings -

And the garden darkens, like the oak,

And with the stars out of the darkness of the night,

As a reflection of the glorious past,

The dome is golden ...

The native landscape ... Under the smoked canopy

A huge cloud of snow

The distance is blue, with its gloomy forest,

The shrouded autumn mist ...

Everything was so hollow-and empty-immense

In the monotony of mute ...

Places only appear through the spots

Stagnant waters covered with first ice.

Colorful autumn - evening of the year -

I smile lightly.

But between me and nature

A thin glass appeared.

This whole world is like in the palm of your hand,

But I do not have to go back.

I'm still with you, but in the car,

I'm also at home, but on the road.

Mournful wind chases

I flock to the edge of the heavens.

The spruce groan groans,

Deafly whispers the dark forest.

On the creek, pockmarked and mottled,

A piece of paper flies behind the sheet,

And a jet, dry and sharp;

A chill comes.

The darkness falls on everything,

Flying from all sides,

With a cry in the air whirls

A flock of jackdaws and crows ...

Rings cranberries,

The days became colder,

And from a bird's cry

My heart felt sadder.

Flocks of birds fly away

Off, beyond the blue sea.

All trees shine

In multi-colored dress.

The sun laughs less often,

There is no perfume in the flowers.

Soon Autumn will wake up

And crying asleep.