Beautiful verses of great poets: 50 best poems with meaning ✍

Popular poems of silver age poets

Marina Tsvetaeva

All yours: longing for a miracle
All the longing for the April days
Everything that was so drawn to the sky -
But do not demand rationality.
I will be to death
Girl, though yours.
Darling winter night
Be like a little one with me.
To be surprised do not bother me
Be like a boy in a terrible secret
And stay help me
A girl, though a wife.

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

In my great city - night.
From the sleepy house I go away
And people think: wife, daughter, -
But I remembered one thing: night.
The July wind sweeps me - the way
And somewhere, the music in the window is a little.
Ah, now the wind to dawn - blow
Through the walls, thin breasts - into the chest.
There is a black poplar, and there is light in the window,
And the ringing on the tower, and in the hand is color,
And this step - to anyone - after,
And this shadow, but not me.
The lights are like strands of golden beads
Night leaf in the mouth - taste.
Free from daytime bonds
Friends, understand that I am dreaming of you.

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Shagane, you are mine, Shagane!
Because I'm from the north, or something,
I am ready to tell you the field,
About wavy rye under the moon.
Shagane, you are mine, Shagane.
Because I'm from the north, or something,
That the moon is a hundred times bigger there
No matter how beautiful Shiraz is,
He is no better than Ryazan expanses.
Because I'm from the north, or something.
I am ready to tell you the field,
I took this hair from rye
If you want, knit on your finger -
I do not feel any pain.
I am ready to tell you the field.
About wavy rye under the moon
Guess my curls.
Honey, joke, smile
Do not wake only the memory in me
About wavy rye under the moon.
Shagane, you are mine, Shagane!
There, in the north, a girl too,
She looks terribly like you
Maybe he thinks of me ...
Shagane, you are mine, Shagane.

* * *

Osip Mandelstam

Relentless words ...
Judea petrified
And, with every moment heavier,
His head drooped.
Warriors stood around
On guard of a shrinking body;
Like a whisk, your head hung
On the stem thin and alien.
And he reigned, and He nicknamed,
Like a lily in a birthplace,
And the depth where the stems are drowning,
Triumphant its law.

* * *

Anna Akhmatova

And love Melhol, daughter of Saul, David,
And Saul’s speech: I will give him Yu, and he will be tempted.
Kings
And the lad plays the madman king
And the night mercilessly destroys
And loudly conquers the dawn of victory
And the ghosts of horror smothers.
And the king favors him:
“The fire in you, young man, is wonderful
And I am for such a medicine
I will give you a daughter and a kingdom. ”
And the royal daughter is looking at the singer,
She doesn't need songs, she doesn't need a crown
In her soul is sorrow and resentment,
But he wants Melhol - David.
Paler than dead, her mouth is compressed
Green eyes have frenzy
Clothes shine and ring harmoniously
Wrists with every movement.
Like a secret, like a dream, like mother Lilith!
Not by her will she says:
“I guess they gave me drink with poison,
And my spirit is darkened
My shamelessness is my humiliation
A tramp, a robber, a shepherd!
Why none of the court nobles,
Alas, he doesn’t look like him! ..
And the sun's rays ... and the stars in the night ...
And this cold shiver ... "

* * *

Nikolay Gumilev

A necklace burns on a mermaid
And the rubies are sinfully red
These are strange sad dreams.
A world sick hangover.
A necklace burns on a mermaid
And rubies are sinfully red.
The mermaid has a flickering look
The dying gaze of midnight
It shines, then longer, then shorter,
When the sea winds scream.
The mermaid has a bewitching look
The mermaid has sad eyes.
I love her, undine maiden
Illuminated by the mystery of the night
I love her glow glow
And burning rubies rubbish ...
Because I myself am from the abyss,
From the bottomless abyss of the sea.

* * *

Igor Severyanin

He is so good because he is not at all
What does the crowd think of him empty
Essentially not reading verses,
Since there are no pineapples and cars in them.
Foxtrot, cinema and lotto -
This is where the flock of people rushes!
Meanwhile, his soul is simple,
Like a spring day. But who knows?
Blessing the world, curse of war
He sends in verse, worthy of recognition,
Sorrowing slightly, sometimes slightly joking
Above the whole primitive planet ...
He is in every song to them from the heart sung,
The ironic child.

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

You don't love me, don't regret me
You don't love me, don't regret me
Am I not a little handsome?
Not looking in the face, you’re fading from passion,
I put my hands on my shoulders.
Young, with a sensual grin,
I'm not gentle and rude with you.
Tell me how many you caressed?
How many hands do you remember? How many lips?
I know - they passed like shadows
Without touching your fire
To many you knelt
And now you sit here with me.
Let your eyes be half closed
And you think of someone else
I don’t really love you myself,
Drowning in a distant road.
Do not call this ardor fate
Hot-tempered,
How by chance I met you
I smile, calmly dispersing.
Yes, and you will go your way
Spray joyless days
Only do not touch the kissed,
Just don’t be beckoning.
And when with another down the lane
You will pass chatting about love
Maybe I'll go for a walk
And we will meet with you again.
Turning shoulders closer to the other
And leaning down a bit
You will tell me quietly: "Good evening!"
I will answer: "Good evening, miss."
And nothing will disturb the soul
And nothing will thrill her, -
He who loves cannot love
Who burned, you will not set fire to.

* * *

Innocent Annensky

Among the worlds, in the flickering of the stars
One Star, I repeat the name ...
Not because I loved her
But because I am languishing with others.
And if it’s hard for me to doubt,
I’m looking for an answer from Her alone,
Not because it’s light from Her,
But because with Her there is no need of light.

* * *

Nikolay Gumilyov

Yes, I know, I’m not a couple to you,
I came from another country
And I don’t like the guitar,
And the savage tune of Zurna.
Not in halls and salons
Dark dresses and jackets -
I read poems to dragons
Waterfalls and clouds.
I love - like an Arab in the desert
Falls to water and drinks
And not a knight in the picture,
What looks at the stars and waits.
And I'm not dead in bed
With a notary and a doctor,
And in some wild gap
Drowned in thick ivy
To enter not everything is open,
Protestant, tidy paradise,
And to where the robber, the tax collector
And the harlot cries out: get up!

* * *

Mayakovsky Vladimir

Instead of writing
Smoke tobacco air ate.
Room -
head in kruchenykhovsky hell.
Remember -
outside this window
first
your hands, frantic, stroked.
Today you’re sitting here
heart in iron.
Another day
expel
You can be scolded.
In the muddy front will not fit for a long time
arm shaking in a sleeve.
Run out
I’ll throw my body into the street.
Wild,
going crazy
despairing.
Don't do this
expensive,
good
let's say goodbye now.
Does not matter
my love -
a heavy weight, after all -
hanging on you
wherever you run b.
Let the last scream roar
bitterness of resentful complaints.
If a bull is killed by labor -
he will leave
lounging in cold waters.
Besides your love
to me
there is no sea
but with your love and cry you will not beg for rest.
A tired elephant wants peace -
the royal will lie in the fired sand.
Besides your love
to me
no sun
but I don’t know where you are or with whom.
If I had so tormented the poet,
he
I used my beloved for money and exchanged fame,
and me
no one is joyful ringing
except the ringing of your beloved name.
And I won’t throw myself into the span,
and I won’t drink poison
and I can’t pull the trigger over my temple.
Over me
other than your gaze
not imperiously the blade of a single knife.
Forget tomorrow
what crowned you
that he burnt out a blooming soul with love,
and busy days tossed carnival
will crush the pages of my books ...
Do my words dry leaves
make you stop
breathing greedily?
Give at least
with the last tenderness
your leaving step.

* * *

Boris Pasternak

The roads will fall asleep
Heaps up the roof slopes.
I'm going to stretch my legs:
You are standing outside the door.
Alone, in an autumn coat,
Without a hat, without galoshes,
You fight with excitement
And you chew wet snow.
Trees and Fences
They go into the distance, into the darkness.
Alone in the snow
You are standing on the corner.
Flowing water from a scarf
Cuffed up the sleeve
And drops of dewdrops
Sparkle in the hair.
And a strand of blond
Illuminated: face,
The scarf, and the figure,
And this is a little finger.
The snow on my eyelashes is wet
In your eyes longing
And your whole look is harmonious
From one piece.
Like iron
Soaked in antimony
You were led by a thread
According to my heart.
And settled in it forever
The humility of these traits
And that’s why it doesn’t matter
That light is hard-hearted.
And that's why doubles
All this night in the snow
And draw the line
Between us, I can’t.
But who are we and where are we from
When from all those years
There are gossip
Are we in the world?

* * *

Alexander Blok

Panmongolism! Though the name is wild
But it caresses my ears.
Vladimir Soloviev
Millions are you. Us - darkness, and darkness, and darkness.
Try it, fight us!
Yes, Scythians - we are! Yes, Asians are us
With slanting and greedy eyes!
For you - centuries, for us - a single hour.
We are like obedient slaves
Holding a shield between two hostile races
Mongols and Europe!
Century, century your old horn forged
And drowned out the thunder? avalanches
And a wild fairy tale was a failure for you
And Lisbon, and Messina!
You have looked east for hundreds of years,
Digging and melting our pearls
And you, mocking, counted only the term,
When to train cannon vents!
Here - the time has come. Wings are beating trouble
And every day resentment multiplies,
And the day will come - there will be no trace
From your Paestums, maybe!
Oh old world! Until you die
While languishing with sweet flour
Stop wise like Oedipus
Before the Sphinx with an ancient mystery!
Russia - the Sphinx! Rejoicing and mourning
And drenched in black blood
She looks, looks, looks at you
And with hatred, and with love! ..
Yes, to love as our blood loves
None of you have been in love for a long time!
You forgot that there is love in the world,
Which burns and ruins!
We love everything - and the heat of cold numbers,
And the gift of divine visions,
Everything is clear to us - and a sharp Gallic meaning,
And the gloomy German genius ...
We remember everything - hell streets of Paris,
And the Venetian chills
Lemon groves distant aroma,
And Cologne is smoky ...
We love the flesh - both its taste and color,
And the stuffy, mortal flesh smell ...
Are we guilty, since your skeleton crunches
In our heavy, tender paws?
We got used to grabbing bridles
Playing horses zealous,
Breaking horses with heavy sacrum
And pacify the slaves of the obstinate ...
Come to us! From the horrors of war
Come in a peaceful embrace!
Before it's too late - the old scabbard sword,
Comrades! We will become - brothers!
And if not, we have nothing to lose,
And treachery is available to us!
Centuries, centuries - you will be cursed
Sick late offspring!
We are wide in the wilds and forests
In front of Europe
Let’s part! We will turn to you
His Asian erysipelas!
Go all, go to the Urals!
We clear the battlefield
Steel machines where integral breathes,
With the Mongol wild horde!
But we ourselves are no longer a shield for you now,
From now on, we won’t join ourselves,
We'll see how the mortal battle is in full swing
With my narrow eyes.
Do not budge when the fierce Hun
In the pockets of corpses will fumble,
Burn the city, and drive the herd to the church,
And fry the meat of the white brothers! ..
For the last time - come to your senses, old world!
To the fraternal feast of labor and peace,
For the last time on a bright brotherly feast
The barbaric lyre is calling!

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Being a poet means the same thing
If you don’t break the truth of life,
Scar yourself on delicate skin
To caress other people's souls with the blood of feelings.
To be a poet means to sing apart
To be famous for you.
The nightingale sings - it does not hurt him,
He has the same song.
Canary from the voice of another -
Pitiful, funny trinket.
The world needs a song word
Sing in your own way, even like a frog.
Mohammed outwitted in the Koran,
Prohibiting hard drinks
Because the poet will not stop
Drink wine when tortured.
And when the poet goes to his beloved,
And the beloved with the other lies on the bed,
Blessed by the life-giving blessing,
He will not start a knife in her heart.
But burning with jealous courage
Will whistle out loud to the house:
“Well then, I’ll die a tramp,
On earth, and this is familiar to us. "

* * *

Alexander Blok

The river stretches. Flowing, sad lazily
And washes the shores.
Over the meager clay of the yellow cliff
Stacks are sad in the steppe.
Oh, my Russia! My wife! To pain
We have a long way to go!
Our way - an arrow of the Tatar ancient will
He pierced our chest.
Our path is steppe, our path is in vast anguish -
In your longing, oh Russia!
And even the gloom - night and foreign -
I'm not afraid.
Let the night. We will dominate. Ozarim bonfires
Steppe distance.
Holy banner flashes in the steppe smoke
And the Khan’s saber steel ...
And the eternal battle! Rest only in our dreams
Through blood and dust ...
Steppe Mare flies, flies
And crumpled feather grass ...
And there is no end! Versts, twists flicker ...
Stop it!
Come, go scared clouds,
Sunset in the blood!
Sunset in the blood! Blood flows from the heart!
Cry, heart, cry ...
There is no peace! Steppe mare
Rushing!

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

I like that you are not sick with me,
I like that I'm not sick with you
What ever is a heavy globe
Do not sail away under our feet.
I like that you can be funny -
Dissolved - and not play with words,
And don't blush with a suffocating wave
Lightly touching the sleeves.
I also like that you are with me
Embrace the other calmly
Don't read me in hellfire
Burn for not kissing you.
That my tender name, my gentle, is not
Mention neither day nor night - in vain ...
That never in church silence
They will not sing over us: hallelujah!
Thank you both with heart and hand
For the fact that you are not knowing yourself! -
So love: for my night's rest
For the rarity of meetings with sunset hours,
For our non-walks under the moon
For the sun, not above our heads, -
Because you are sick - alas! - not me
Because I'm sick - alas! - not by you!

* * *

Boris Pasternak

Life came back just as well
How once strange interrupted.
I'm on the same old street
Like then, on that summer day and hour.
The same people and cares are the same
And the sunset fire didn't cool
Like him then to the wall of the Manege
The evening of death hastily nailed.
Women at a cheap meal
Shoes also trample at night.
Them then on the roofing gland
The attics also crucify.
Here is one gait tired
Slowly goes to the threshold
And rising from the basement
Crosses the yard obliquely.
I'm making excuses again
And again, it makes no difference to me.
And the neighbor, rounding the backyard,
Leaves us alone.
Do not cry, do not wrinkle puffy lips,
Do not fold them.
You scatter the dried-up scab
Spring fever.
Take a palm off my chest
We are wires under current.
Look at each other again
He will leave us inadvertently.
Years will pass, you will marry
Forget the disorder.
Being a woman is a great step
To drive crazy is heroism.
And I am before the miracle of a woman’s hands,
The back, and shoulders, and neck
And so with the attachment of servants
I have been reverent throughout the whole century.
But no matter how fetter the night
I have a dreary ring
Stronger thrust away
And the passion for tears beckons.

The best poems of Russian poets

Boris Pasternak

Melo, melo across the earth
To all limits.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
As in the summer we dig midges
Flies to the flames
Flakes flocked from the yard
To the window frame.
Blizzard sculpted on glass
Mugs and arrows.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
To the illuminated ceiling
Shadows lay
Cross your arms, cross your legs,
The fate of the cross.
And two shoes fell
With a knock on the floor
And wax with tears from the night light
I dripped on the dress.
And everything was lost in the snow haze
Gray and white.
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.
A candle was blowing from a corner
And the heat of temptation
Soared like an angel, two wings
Crosswise.
Melo all month in February
Every now and then
The candle burned on the table
The candle was burning.

* * *

Alexander Blok

I will never forget (he was, or wasn’t,
This evening): the fire of dawn
The pale sky burned and spread
And at the yellow dawn - lights.
I sat by the window in a crowded room.
Somewhere they sang bows of love.
I sent you a black rose in a glass
Golden as the sky, ai.
You have looked. I met embarrassed and boldly
The gaze was arrogant and bowed.
Turning to the gentleman, intentionally abruptly
You said, "And this one is in love."
And now, in response to something, the strings struck,
Bows sang frantically ...
But you were with me all young contempt
A slightly noticeable trembling of the hand ...
You rushed by the movement of a frightened bird
You passed like my dream is light ...
And the spirits sighed, dozed their eyelashes,
Silk whispered alarmingly.
But from the depths of the mirrors you cast my eyes
And throwing, she shouted: “Catch! ..”
A monisto strummed, a gypsy danced
And squealed the dawn of love.

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

Your name is a bird in your hand
Your name is an ice floe in your tongue.
One and only lip movement.
Your name is five letters.
A ball caught on the fly
Silver bells in the mouth.
A stone thrown into a quiet pond
He will sob like your name.
In the light clicking of night hooves
Your great name thunders.
And call him to our temple
Voicedly clicking trigger.
Your name - oh, you can’t! -
Your name is a kiss in the eyes
In the gentle cold of motionless eyelids.
Your name is a kiss in the snow.
Key, icy, blue sip ...
With your name - a deep dream.

* * *

Velimir Khlebnikov

I do not need much!
A slice of bread
And a drop of milk.
Yes it's heaven
Yes, these clouds!

* * *

Akhmatova Anna

There is a treasured feature in the vicinity of people,
Her not pass love and passion, -
Let the mouth merge in terrible silence
And the heart is torn from love to pieces.
And friendship is powerless here, and years
High and fiery happiness
When the soul is free and alien
Slow languor of voluptuousness.
Seeking her crazy, and her
Those who have achieved are struck by grief ...
Now you understand why mine
The heart does not beat under your hand.

* * *

Anna Akhmatova

The door is half open
Limes are sweet
Forgotten on the table
Whip and glove.
The circle from the lamp is yellow ...
I listen to the rustles.
Why did you leave?
I do not understand…
Joyful and clear
Tomorrow will be morning.
This life is beautiful
Heart, be wise.
You're completely tired
Beat quieter, more muffled ...
You know, I read
That the immortal souls.

* * *

Anna Akhmatova

Unprecedented autumn built a tall dome,
There was an order to the clouds not to darken this dome.
And people marveled: September terms are passing,
And where did the icy, wet days go? ..
The water of clouded canals became emerald
And the nettle smelled like roses, but only stronger
It was stuffy with dawns, intolerable, demonic and scarlet,
They were remembered by all of us until the end of our days.
The sun was like a rebel who entered the capital,
And spring autumn so eagerly caressed him,
What seemed - now transparent will turn white
snowdrop…
That's when you came up, calm, to my porch.

* * *

Alexander Blok

I wandered around the world for a long time
I saw everything, found out everything
But dressed in the misty fog
You walked by, my ideal.
I understood a lot of radiant stars
Only the secret light poured
Like a moonlight silver
She was sad and bright.
And long prophetic zenits
Staring into the gloomy fog
Where the bright red lightning
Gloomy sky ocean.
Now I understand the secret of the night
Found You, my Ideal ...
Your eyes shine only now
How eternally Sirius sparkled! ..

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

Yes? - Do not say! Hardly!
And better - let it be!
You too many, I think, kissed,
Hence the sadness.
All the heroines of Shakespearean tragedies
I see in you.
You, young tragic lady,
No one saved!
You are so tired of repeating love
Recitative!
Cast iron rim on a bloodless hand—
Eloquent!
I love you. - Like a thundercloud
Sin is above you -
For being sarcastic and burning
And best of all
Because we, that our lives are different
In the darkness of roads
For your inspired temptations
And dark rock
For the fact that you, my demon is a stupid,
I’ll say sorry
For the fact that you - at least tear over the coffin!
Can’t save!
For this trembling, for - what - is it really
Do I have a dream? -
For this ironic charm
That you are not him.

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

I know the truth! All previous truths - away!
No need for people with people on earth to fight!
Look: evening, look: night is coming.
What are poets, lovers, commanders about?
The wind is already creeping, the earth is already in the dew,
Soon the star blizzard in the sky will freeze,
And under the ground we will soon fall asleep
Who on earth did not allow each other to fall asleep.
The leaves were falling over your grave
And it smells of winter.
Listen, dead, listen, honey:
You are still mine.
Laughing! - In the blissful lionfish road!
The moon is high.
Mine is so certain and so immutable
Like this hand.
Again with a knot I will approach early in the morning
To the hospital door.
You just went to hot countries,
To the great seas.
I kissed you! I conjured you!
Laughing at the afterlife!
I do not believe death! I'm waiting for you from the station -
Home!
Let the leaves crumble, washed away and erased
Words on mourning ribbons.
And if for the whole world you are dead,
I'm dead too.
I see, I feel - I feel you everywhere
- What ribbons from your wreaths! -
I have not forgotten you and I will not forget you
Forever and ever!
Of such promises, I know the aimlessness
I know the vanity.
- A letter to infinity. - A letter to infinity. -
A letter to the void.

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

I was in a country where roses are forever
Blossom like the first spring
Where is the sky of Salvator Rosa,
Where the month is smoky blue!
And now no one knows
About the affection on my face
That the heart is dying
In separation entrusted ring ...
So I'm flying to the magical distances
And let her be one dream
I fell into her sandals
I kissed her mouth!
I kissed the "gates of Damascus"
Gate with a shield twined in fur
And now put on a mask
On me, the happiest of all!

* * *

Nikolay Gumilyov

I left the house when everyone was sleeping,
My companion was hiding by a moat in the bushes
Probably the next morning they looked for me,
But it was too late, we walked in the fields.
My companion was yellow, thin, slanting,
Oh how I loved him madly
Under the motley mantle he hid the scythe
With the eyes of a viper he gazed and whined.
About the old, about the strange, about the sickless,
About the eternal was his whining,
It sounded like a ringing bell
Plunged into languor, into oblivion.
We saw mountains, forest and water,
We slept in the tents of other people's plains
Sometimes it seemed like we were going for years
It seemed at times - only one day.
When we reached the wall of China,
My companion told me: “Now goodbye.
The roads are different for us: yours is a saint,
And me, I sow my rice and tea. ”
On a white hillock over a tea field
At the pagoda, a decrepit Buddha was sitting,
I bowed before him in ecstasy secret
And it was sweeter than ever.
So quiet, so quiet above the world
With the eyes of a viper he sang and sang
About the old, about the strange, about the sickless,
About the eternal, and the air around became brighter.

* * *

Ivan Bunin

We always remember about happiness.
And happiness is everywhere. Maybe it is -
This autumn garden is behind the barn
And clean air pouring out the window.
In the bottomless sky with a light white edge
The cloud rises, shines. Long
I follow him ... We see little, we know
And happiness is given only to those who know.
The window is open. Squeaked and sat down
On the windowsill a bird. And from books
I look away a tired look for a moment.
The day is evening, the sky is empty.
The thunder of a thunder is heard in the threshing floor ...
I see, hear, happy. Everything is in me.

* * *

Igor Severyanin

You dressed in the evening
And in the garden stand by the pool
Watching the moon go moon
And the duct trembles on it with moire.
Ships anchored the bays:
They brought tropical fruits
They brought patterned fabrics,
Brought dreams of the ocean.
And when the Brazilian cruiser comes,
The lieutenant will tell you about the geyser.
And compare ... but it is so intimate! ..
Singing something like a hymn.
He will talk about Lazori Ganga,
About the mischief of an evil orangutan,
About cynical african dance
And about the eternal flyer - “Dutchman”.
He will show you the Kamchatka album,
Where else is culture not in its infancy
A hint of tender friendship with a geisha,
Having been silent about the proximity of further ...
Overseas dream barking,
Having opened your peacock fan
You will cling to him in a warm shiver,
Love it even more ...

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Rude is given joy.
Gentleness is given to the gentle.
I need nothing,
I'm not sorry for anyone.
I feel sorry for myself a bit,
Sorry for stray dogs.
This straight road
I was brought to a tavern.
Why are you cursing, devils?
Or am I not the son of the country?
Each of us pawned
For a glass of his pants.
I look dimly at the windows.
In the heart of longing and heat.
Soaking in the sun soaking
The street is in front of me.
And on the street the boy is snotty.
The air is fried and dry.
Boy is so happy
And picks his nose.
Poke, poke, my dear,
Put your whole finger in there
Only with force
Do not go into your soul.
I'm ready now. I'm timid.
Look at the bottles of army!
I collect traffic jams -
Shut up your soul.

Interesting poems by Russian poets

Nikolay Gumilev

Today, I see your look is especially sad
And hands are especially thin, knees hugging.
Listen: far, far, on Lake Chad
Exquisite giraffe roams.
Graceful harmony and neglect are given to him,
And his skin is decorated with a magical pattern,
Only the moon would dare to equal with,
Crushing and swaying on the moisture of wide lakes.
In the distance it is like the colored sails of a ship,
And his run is smooth, like a joyful bird flight.
I know that the earth sees a lot of miracles,
When at sunset he hides in a marble grotto.
I know funny tales of mysterious countries
About the black maiden, about the passion of the young leader,
But you breathed in heavy fog for too long
You do not want to believe in anything other than rain.
And as I tell you about the tropical garden,
About slender palm trees, about the smell of inconceivable herbs ..
You cry? Listen ... far away on Lake Chad
Exquisite giraffe roams.
Vladimir Mayakovsky Drop it!
Of course, this is not death.
Why would she walk around the fortress?
Aren't you ashamed to believe
absurdities ?!
Just a birthday carnival
invented shooting and shooting range for noise,
and he, in a toad, crouching on a shaft,
blurs out, as from a mortar.
Lovely bass master,
just like a cannon.
And not a gas mask
but for the sake of a joke toy.
Watch it!
Sky measure
a rocket ran out.
Is death so beautiful
running b in the sky of parquet!
Ah don't say:
"Blood from a wound."
This is wild!
Just selected from the abusive
gifted with cloves.
How else?
The brain does not want to understand
and cannot:
in cannon necks
if you don’t kiss
then - for what
the arms of the trenches are entwined?
No one is killed!
Simply - did not survive.
He lay down from the Seine to the Rhine.
Because it blooms
stupefied yellow
on the beds of dead gangrene.
Not killed
no,
not!
They all get up
simply -
like this,
will return
and smiling they’ll tell their wife
what a master is a merry fellow and a crank.
They say: there was no core, no landmines
and, of course, there was no fortress!
Just a birthday man invented a lot
some magnificent absurdities!

* * *

Anna Akhmatova

I asked the cuckoo
How many years will I live ...
Pines trembled tops,
A yellow ray fell into the grass
But not a sound in the more recent ...
I'm going home,
And the cool wind is undead
My forehead is hot.

* * *

Alexander Blok

Night, street, lantern, pharmacy,
Meaningless and dim light.
Live another quarter century
It will be so. There is no outcome.
If you die, you will start over again
And everything will be repeated, as old:
Night, icy ripples of the canal,
Pharmacy, street, lantern.

* * *

Valery Bryusov

It is torn from its sheath and shines in your eyes,
As in the old days, honed and sharp.
A poet is always with people when a thunder storms,
And the song with the storm is forever a sister.
When I saw neither audacity nor strength,
When everyone drove silently under the yoke,
I went to the country of silence and graves
In the centuries, mysteriously past.
How I hated building all this life,
Shameful, petty, wrong, ugly,
But I only laughed at the call to fight,
Not believing in timid calls.
But I just heard the cherished call of the trumpet,
Barely spread fiery banners
I'm screaming a tip to you, I'm a fight songwriter
I echo thunder from the sky.
Dagger of poetry! Bloody lightning light
As before, I ran through this faithful steel,
And again I am with people - then, that I am a poet,
Then, that lightning sparkled.

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

How many of them fell into this abyss,
Scatter away!
The day will come when I will disappear
From the surface of the earth.
Everything that sang and fought will harden
Beamed and torn:
And the green of my eyes, and a gentle voice,
And gold hair.
And there will be life with her daily bread,
With the forgetfulness of the day.
And everything will be - as if under the sky
And there was me!
Changeable as children in every mine,
And so briefly angry
Loved the hour when the wood in the fireplace
Become ash
Cello and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village ...
- Me, so alive and real
On gentle land!
To all of you - to me, who knew nothing in any way,
Aliens and yours ?! -
I am demanding faith
And asking for love.
And day and night, both in writing and orally:
For truth yes and no
For being so often too sad
And only twenty years old
For the fact that I'm inevitably
Forgiveness of insults
For all my unbridled tenderness
And too proud look
For the speed of rapid events,
For the truth, for the game ...
- Listen! - Still love me
For the fact that I will die.

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Life is a deception with bewitching longing
That’s why she’s so strong
What with your rough hand
Fatal writes letters.
I always close my eyes
I say: “Only disturb my heart,
Life is a deception, but sometimes it is
Decorates with joys a lie.
Face the gray sky
Fortune telling on the moon
Calm down mortal and don't demand
The truth that you do not need. "
Good in bird cherry blizzard
To think that this life is a path
Let the easy friends deceive
Let easy friends change.
Let me caress with a gentle word
Let the evil tongue be sharper than razors, -
I live long ready for everything,
Ruthlessly used to everything.
These heights chill my soul
No heat from starfire.
Those whom I loved renounced
Who I lived - forgot about me.
But all the same, cramped and persecuted,
I, looking at the dawn with a smile,
On a land close and dear to me
Thank you for this life.

* * *

Anna Akhatova

You are my letter, dear, do not crumple.
Read it to the end, friend.
Tired of being a stranger
Be a stranger in your way.
Don’t look like that, don’t frown angrily,
I am your love, I am yours.
Not a cowgirl, not a queen
And I'm not a nun anymore -
In this gray, everyday dress
On worn heels ...
But, as before, a burning hug,
The same fear in huge eyes.
You are my letter, dear, do not crumple,
Do not cry for the cherished lies
You him in your poor kitty
Put it to the bottom.

* * *

Anna Akhmatova

I'm crazy oh weird boy
Wednesday, at three o’clock!
Pricked ring finger
I have a ringing wasp.
I squeezed her inadvertently
And she seemed to die
But the end of the poisoned sting
There was a sharper spindle.
Will I cry for you, strange
Will your face smile at me?
Take a look! On the ring finger
So beautifully smooth ring.

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

Above! Above! Catch the pilot!
Not asking vines - patriotic
The Nereid will have a sweet spot
Nereid in the dawn!
Lyra! Lyra! Praise is blue!
Blaze of wings - in the tabernacle!
Over the hoes - and - the backs
Blazing of two storms!
Muse! Muse! How dare you?
Only the veil knot - blowing!
Or the wind of pages - rustling
About the page - and flushing, soared ...
And for now - bills - in bales,
And for now - the hearts - wheezing,
Boiling - to - boil
Two foamed - strong - wing.
So, over your game - large,
(Between the corpses - and - the dolls!)
Not plucked, not bought,
Blazing and dancing
Six-winged, warm,
Between the imaginary - prostrate! - real
Not strangled by your carcasses
Soul!

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Scarlet gloom in heaven
He drew a line with fire.
I came to your vespers
Field wilderness.
My cat is not easy
But the eyes are blue of the day.
I know mother earth is blueberry,
We are all close relatives.
We went far and wide
Under the azure wing.
But will call us from the psalms
The glow of the dawn of the psalm.
And we will come across the plains
To the truth of the cross
By the light of a pigeon book
Drink your mouth.

* * *

Anna Akhmatova

To get sick properly, in a burning delirium
Meet everyone again
In a full of wind and sunshine, the seaside garden
Walk along the wide alleys.
Even the dead now agree to come,
And the exiles in my house.
Bring the child by the handle to me,
So long I miss him.
I’ll eat blue grapes with the sweet ones,
I will drink ice wine
And watch the gray waterfall flow
On a siliceous wet bottom.

* * *

Vladimir Mayakovsky

You,
booed
ridiculed by batteries,
you,
ulcerated by the gossip of bayonets,
enthusiastically
over swearing
odes solemn
"ABOUT"!
Oh, bestial!
Oh baby!
Oh, cheap!
Oh great!
What was your name yet?
How do you turn around again, two-faced?
Slender construction
a pile of ruins?
To the driver
dust of coal fanned,
a miner punching ore
censer
censer reverently
praise human labor.
And tomorrow
Blissful
rafters cathedrals
vainly exalts, praying for mercy, -
your six-inch blunt hogs
blow up the millennia of the Kremlin.
"Glory".
Wheezes on a dying voyage.
The squeal of sirens is strangely subtle.
You send sailors
on a sinking cruiser,
there,
where is the forgotten
meowed the kitten.
And then!
The drunk crowd screamed.
Us Zalyvatsky twisted in force.
Butts drive gray admirals
upside down
from the bridge in Helsingfors.
Yesterday's wounds lick and lick
and again I see open veins I.
You philistine
- oh, damn you thrice! -
and my,
poetic
- Oh, be glorified four times, blessed! -

* * *

Marina Tsvetaeva

Homesickness! Long
Exposed trouble!
I don't care
Where completely lonely
Be what stones home
Wrestle with a bazaar wallet
To the house, and not knowing what is mine,
Like a hospital or barracks.
I don't care which among
Persons bristling captive
Leo, from what human environment
Being crowded out - without fail -
Into yourself, in the solitude of feelings.
Kamchatka bear without ice
Where not to get along (and I’m not scamming!)
Where to humble myself - I am the only one.
Do not flatter myself and language
Native, his appeal milky.
I don't care - on which
Incomprehensible to be met!
(Reader, newspaper tons
Swallower, milkman gossip ...)
Twentieth Century - He,
And I - until every century!
Dumbfounded like a log
Remaining from the alley
I’m all equal, I don’t care
And, perhaps, all the same -
Native to the former - everything.
All signs from me, all meta
All dates - how it took off:
A soul born is somewhere.
So the edge didn't save me
My, as the most vigilant detective
Along the whole soul, the whole - across!
Birthmark does not find!
Every house is alien to me, every temple is empty to me,
And all is the same, and all is one.
But if there is a bush along the way
Gets up, especially mountain ash ...

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Yes! Now it’s decided. No refund
I left my native fields.
Will not be winged foliage
The poplar is ringing over me.
A low house hunches over without me
My old dog is long gone.
On Moscow curved streets
To die, to know, God judged me.
I love this city of rape
Let him flabber and let him loose.
Golden Drowsy Asia
Opolela on the domes.
And when the moon shines at night,
When it shines ... God knows how!
I'm coming head down
Alley in a familiar tavern.
The noise and din in this den is creepy
But all night long until dawn
I read poems to prostitutes
And with gangsters I fry alcohol.
Heart beats more and more
And I say out of place:
"I am the same as you, the missing one,
I can’t go back now. ”
A low house hunches over without me
My old dog is long gone.
On Moscow curved streets
To die, to know, God judged me.

* * *

Vladimir Mayakovsky

Well, this is completely unbearable!
All as it is bitten by malice.
I'm not angry like you could:
like a dog the face of the moon is holobol -
would take
and everything is surrounded.
Nerves must be ...
I will go out
take a walk.
And on the street I didn’t calm down on anyone.
Someone screamed about good evening.
It is necessary to answer:
she is a friend.
Want.
I feel -
I can’t humanly.
What a mess!
Am I sleeping, or what?
I felt myself:
same as it was
the face is the same as what you are used to.
He touched his lip
and from under my lips -
fang.
Rather covered his face, as if blowing his nose.
He rushed to the house, doubling his steps.
I carefully go around the police post
suddenly deafening:
“City!
Tail!"
He passed his hand and was dumbfounded!
Of this
all fangs are cleaner
I did not notice in a mad jump:
from my jacket
the tail has scattered
and curls behind
big, doggy.
Now what?
One yelled, growing crowd.
The second was added third, fourth.
They crushed the old woman.
She, baptized, shouted something about the devil.
And when, bristling in the face of the broom,
the crowd piled on
huge
wicked
I got on all fours
and barked:
Woof! wow! wow!

* * *

Sergey Yesenin

Goodbye my friend, goodbye.
My dear, you are in my chest.
Intended Parting
Promises to meet ahead.
Goodbye my friend, without a hand, without a word,
Do not be sad and not sad eyebrows -
It's not new to die in this life
But living, of course, is not newer.

Among the classics were considered such writers: Mayakovsky, Tsvetaeva, Yesenin, Akhmatova and others. Each invested in a poem or prose his lyrical mood. He conveyed through the phrases and thoughts the most subtle emotions and experiences. Poems about the love of classics were revealed with renewed vigor and their own characteristics.