Poems about autumn ✍ 50 poems about the autumn season, children, poets, short

The content of the article

1 Popular poems about autumn
2 The best poems about autumn
3 Beautiful poems about autumn
4 Interesting poems by Russian poets

Popular poems about autumn

Forest, like a painted tower,
Purple, gold, crimson,
A fun, colorful wall
Stands over a bright glade.
Yellow birch carvings
Shine in blue azure
Like towers, Christmas trees get dark
And between the maples turn blue
Here and there in the foliage through
Gleams in the sky that window.
The forest smells like oak and pine
During the summer it dried out from the sun,
And Autumn is a quiet widow
Enters the motley tower of his ..

* * *

Autumn late
I love Tsarskoye Selo Garden,
When he is quiet half-dark,
Like a nap, embraced
And white-winged visions
On the dim lake glass
In some bliss numbness
They are killing in this half-haze ...
And on the porphyry steps
Catherine's palaces
Shadow falls
October early evenings -
And the garden is getting dark like an oak
And with the stars from the darkness of the night
Like a glimpse of a glorious past
It turns out the golden dome ...

* * *

There was a late wind a dozen
Carried the ashes of the leaves
And dregs, as from plates,
It splashed out of puddles.
A rowan tree was bunched by a bunch.
And the forest, dense recently,
Glistening foliage gloriously
He became visible to everyone through.
He was like a close home
Where the wallpaper is stripped
There are no lamps over your head, -
You find out, but with difficulty.
To different ends,
Folding your curtains
And taking off my paintings
Residents dispersed.
Rain was falling from the mist
The smell sang
And as if burned
Wet trunks.
Oh sweet home! ..
In vain the heart is sad:
Everything will be done skillfully
Winter will whiten everything.

* * *

Mournful wind drives
I flock clouds to the edge of heaven.
Broken spruce groans,
The dark forest whispers muffledly.
On the creek, pockmarked and colorful,
A leaf flies behind a leaf
And a stream, dry and sharp;
A chill is rising.
Twilight falls on everything,
Flown from all sides,
Screaming in the air
A flock of jackdaws and a raven ...

* * *

Autumn. Fairytale Hall
Open to all for review.
Clearings of forest roads,
Peering into the lakes.
As in the exhibition of paintings:
Halls, halls, halls, halls
Elm, Ash, Aspen
In the gilding of an unprecedented.
Linden hoop golden -
Like a crown on a bride and groom.
Face of a birch - under a veil
Wedding and transparent.
Buried land
Under the leaves in the ditches, pits.
In the yellow outbuilding maples
As if in gilded frames.
Where are the trees in September
At dawn, they stand in pairs
And the sunset on their crust
Leaves a trace of amber.
Where you cannot step into a ravine
So that everyone does not know:
So raging that no step
There is a tree under the feet.
Where does the end of the alley sound
Steep descent echo
And dawn cherry glue
It freezes in the form of a clot.
Autumn. Ancient corner
Old books, clothes, weapons,
Where is the treasure directory
Turns over the cold.

* * *

Niva harvested, groves of goals,
Water and fog are damp.
Wheel behind the blue mountains
The quiet sun has sunk down.
The blasted road is dozing.
She noticed today
What a very, very little
Waiting for the gray-haired winter left.
Ah, and I myself am more often voiced
I saw yesterday in the fog:
Red month foal
Harnessed to our sleigh.

* * *

Big peas pours rain
The wind breaks, and the distance is unclean.
Ruffled Poplar Closes
Silvery underside of the sheet.
But look: through the hole of the cloud,
Like through an arch of stone slabs,
Into this kingdom of fog and hassle
The first ray, making its way, flies.
So far not forever curtained
Clouds, and therefore not in vain,
Like a girl flaring up a hazel
Beamed at the end of September.
Now, painter, grab
Brush after brush, and on canvas
Golden as fire and pomegranate
Draw this girl for me.
Draw, as if in a tree, unsteady
The young princess in the crown
With a restlessly sliding smile
On a tearful young face.

* * *

There is in the fall of the original
A short but wondrous time -
All day it’s like crystal,
And radiant evenings ...
The air is empty, no more birds can be heard
But far before the first winter storms
And the clear and warm azure is pouring
To the resting field ...

* * *

The night has turned pale and the month has set
Across the river is a red sickle.
Sleepy fog in the meadows silvery,
The black reeds are damp and smoking
The wind rustles with reeds.
Quiet in the village. In the chapel a lamp
It fades, tiredly grief.
Into the quivering dusk of a chilled garden
Pours cool from the steppes ...
Slowly rusting the dawn.

* * *

Separated from a friendly branch
A leaf solitary flies
Where does it fly? ... "He doesn’t know himself,"
Thunderstorm smashed darling oak;
Since then, by shares, by fields
By chance wearable
I strive where the winds command
To where the leaves all spin
And a light pink leaf.

* * *

Autumn just got down to work
just took out the brush and cutter,
put here and there gilding
the crimson was dropped in some places
and hesitated, as if deciding
accepted her that way or that?
That despair, interfering with the colors,
and in embarrassment will step back ...
That will come from anger and to shreds
tears everything with a merciless hand ...
And suddenly, in a painful night,
will find majestic peace.
And then, having gathered together
all efforts, meditations, ways,
draw a picture
that we can’t take our eyes off.
And quiet down, embarrassed involuntarily:
What can I do and what can I say?
... And she is still unhappy with herself:
supposedly, it didn’t work out again.
And she will destroy it all,
blowing away with the wind, pouring rain
to get rid of winter and summer
and first start in a year.

* * *

Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush nature of wilting,
In scarlet and gold clad forests
In their canopy of the wind, noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with a hazy wavy
And a rare ray of the sun, and the first frosts,
And a distant gray-haired winter threat.
Cobwebs floating
Over sleepy stubble.
Mountain ash blush
Under each window.
Wheezing in the morning
The cockerels are young.
Light rain
Mushroom fall out.
Tractor drivers sing
Leaving for a chill.
The villages are getting ready.
To Harvest Day.

The best poems about autumn

Kaftan threw the green summer,
The larks whistled to the heart.
Autumn, wearing a yellow fur coat,
I went through the forests with a broomstick.
So that she entered as a zealous mistress
In the snowy forest towers
Goldfinch in a white swing -
Russian, rosy winter!

* * *

Boring picture!
Clouds without end
The rain is pouring
Puddles on the porch ...
Stunted mountain ash
Gets wet under the window
The village is watching
A gray spot.
That you are visiting early
Autumn has come to us?
Another heart asks
Light and heat! ..

* * *

Golden foliage spun
In the pinkish water on the pond
Like butterflies a light flock
With a sinking flies on a star.
I'm in love tonight
A yellowing dol is close to the heart.
The lad is the wind on the shoulders
He hemmed on a birch.
And in the soul and in the valley of coolness
Blue dusk like a flock of sheep
Behind the wicket of a silent garden
The bells will ring and freeze.
I've never been frugal yet
So did not listen to intelligent flesh,
It would be nice, like willow branches,
Tipping over into the pink waters.
It’s nice to be smiling on the stack
The face of the month to chew hay ...
Where are you, where, my quiet joy
All loving, nothing to desire?

* * *

Leaves in the field turned yellow
And they spin and fly;
Only in the forest ponikshi ate
Gloomy greens are stored.
Under the overhanging cliff
He doesn’t like it, between colors,
Plowman rest at times
From midday labors.
Beast, courageous, involuntarily
Hurrying somewhere in a hurry.
At night the month is dim and the field
Through the fog, only silver.

* * *

When the end-to-end web
Spreads the threads of clear days
And under the peasant's window
The distant gospel is heard better
We are not sad, scared again
The breath of near winter
And the voice of summer lived
We understand more clearly.

* * *

Nice autumn! Healthy, vigorous
Air tired forces invigorate;
Ice is not strong on the river
As if melting sugar lies;
Near the forest, like in a soft bed,
You can get enough sleep - peace and spaciousness!
The leaves have not faded yet,
They are yellow and fresh, like a carpet.
Nice autumn! Frosty nights
Clear, quiet days ...
There is no outrage in nature! And kochi
And moss swamps and stumps -
All is well under the moonlight
I recognize my native Russia ...
I'm flying fast on cast iron rails
I think my own ...

* * *

Rolling down from a mountain height
An oak lay on ashes, broken by perunami;
And with him, and flexible ivy, entwined around him ...
Oh friendship, it's you!

* * *

Autumn. Thickets of the forest.
Moss of dry swamps.
The lake is whitish.
The sky is pale.
Water lilies have faded
And the saffron bloomed.
The paths are broken
The forest is empty and goal.
Only you are beautiful
Though long dry
In the bumps by the bay
Old alder.
You look feminine
Half asleep in water -
And you get silver
First of all, in the spring.

* * *

Autumn has come
The flowers are dry
And they look sadly
Bare bushes.
Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows
Only turns green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun does not shine;
The wind howls in the field;
Rain drizzles.
The waters are noisy
Fast creek
The birds flew away
To the warm edges.

* * *

Autumn has arrived; bad weather
Rushing in the clouds from the seas;
The face of nature is gloomy
The sight of the naked fields was not cheerful;
Forests dressed in blue darkness
The fog walks above the earth
And darkens the light of the eyes.
Everything dies, has cooled;
The space was given blackened;
Frowning brows white day;
Permanent rains poured;
They settled in neighbors to people
Longing and sleep, spleen and laziness.
So surely the old man’s infirmity is boring;
So sure for me too
Always watery and bothersome
Foolish idle talk.

* * *

My umbrella is tearing like a bird
And breaks out, cracking.
Noises over the world and smokes
A damp rain hut.
And I'm standing in a weave
Cool elongated bodies
Like rain for a moment
He wanted to merge with me.
All that shone and sang
Forests hid in autumn
And breathe slowly on the body
The last heat of heaven.
Fogs creep through the trees
Fountains fell silent in the garden.
One fixed cannon
They glow in front of everyone.
So, spreading wings, eagle
Standing on a cliff ledge
And in her beak moves
Fire speaking out of the haze.
The speeches of lovers break off
The last starling flies away.
Maples showered all day
Silhouettes of crimson hearts.
What have you done with us, autumn!
In red gold, the earth freezes.
The flames of sorrow whistle beneath my feet
Heaps of foliage stirring.

* * *

Indian summer has come -
Days of farewell warmth.
Warmed by the late sun
In a crack, the fly came to life.
The sun! What is more beautiful in the world
After a chilly day? ..
Cobweb lung yarn
Twisted around the bitch.
Tomorrow the rain pours fast
Cloudy sun screening.
Silver spider webs
There are two or three days left to live.
Pity autumn! Give us the light!
Protect from winter darkness!
Have pity on us, Indian summer:
These cobwebs are us.

* * *

The swallows are gone
And the dawn of yesterday
All the rooks flew
Yes, like a network, flashed
Over that mountain.
Everything is asleep in the evening
It’s dark in the yard.
Dry leaf falls,
At night the wind is angry
Yes, knocking on the window.
It’s better if snow and blizzard
I’m glad to meet with a breast!
Like a fright
Shouting to the south
Cranes are flying.
You leave - involuntarily
It's hard - even cry!
You look - through the field
Tumbleweed
Jumps like a ball.

Beautiful poems about autumn

Autumn is early.
Leaves are falling.
Carefully step into the grass.
Each leaf is a muzzle of a fox ...
This is the land on which I live.
Foxes quarrel, foxes miss
foxes celebrate, cry, sing,
and when they light up the pipes,
means - rain soon pour.
Burning runs through the trunks
and the trunks disappear into the moat.
Each trunk is a deer body ...
This is the land on which I live.
Red oak with blue horns
waiting for an opponent from silence ...
Watch out:
an ax under your feet!
And the roads back burned!
... But in the forest, at the pine entrance,
someone believes in it in reality ...
You can’t do anything:
nature!
This is the land on which I live

* * *

Tired of everything: tired and the color of heaven
And the wind, and the river, and the month that was born,
And night, and in the green of a dim sleeping forest,
And the yellow leaf that finally fell off.
Only a fountain babbles in the far darkness
Speaking of life, invisible but familiar ...
Oh autumn night, how almighty you are
Refusal of struggle and languishing languor!

* * *

October has arrived - the grove is shaking
The last sheets from their naked branches;
The autumn cold died - the road freezes.
The murmur still runs after the mill stream,
But the pond was already frozen; my neighbor hurries
Into the departing fields with my desire,
And they guard winter with crazy fun
And the barking dogs awake asleep.

* * *

Autumn. Our whole poor garden sprinkles
Yellowed leaves fly in the wind;
Only in the distance flaunt, there, at the bottom of the valleys,
Brushes bright red fading mountain ash.
Fun and woeful to my heart
Silently your little hands I warm and press
Looking into your eyes, silently pouring tears,
I can’t say how much I love you.

* * *

The sky was breathing in the fall
Less often the sun shone,
The day was getting shorter
Forest mysterious canopy
With a sad noise bared.
Fog fell on the fields
Geese loud caravan
Reached south: approaching
Pretty boring time;
It was November already at the yard.

* * *

In October, in October
Frequent rain in the yard.
Grass is dead in the meadows
The grasshopper fell silent.
Firewood
For the winter for stoves.

* * *

Trembling sheets, flying around
Clouds of sky covered the beauty
An evil storm burst from the field
Tears and tosses and howls in the forest.
Only you, my dear little bird,
In a warm nest, barely visible
Light pile, light, small,
Not intimidated by the storm alone.
And the roll of thunders rumbles,
And the noisy haze is so black ...
Only you, my dear little bird,
In a warm nest barely visible.

* * *

Love of sublime origins
forests and pasture store.
Invisibly Pushkin lines
woven into autumn leaf fall.
And amid sensitive silence
in the font of golden sleep
The soul is full of charm
And she is full of bright thoughts.
Native poetry freedom
embraced so far and high,
that where is Pushkin, where is nature,
go try to figure it out ...

* * *

Lingonberry ripening
The days are colder
And from a bird cry
The heart became sadder.
Flocks of birds fly away
Away, beyond the blue sea.
All the trees shine
In a colorful dress.
The sun laughs less often
There is no incense in the flowers.
Autumn will wake up soon
And crying awake.

* * *

Between thinning tops
The blue appeared.
Noisy at the edges
Bright yellow foliage.
No birds are heard. Small crack
Broken bitch
And, tail flickering, squirrel
Easy makes the jump.
The fir tree became more noticeable in the forest -
Protects a thick shadow.
Last boletus
He pushed his hat to the side.

* * *

The autumn world is meaningfully arranged
And populated.
Enter it and be calm in your soul,
Like this maple.
And if the dust covers you for a moment
Do not be dead.
Let your sheets be washed at dawn
Dew of fields.
When will a thunderstorm break out over the world
And a hurricane
They make the earth bow
Your thin camp.
But even falling into deadly languor
From these torments
Like a simple autumn tree
Be quiet, my friend.
Do not forget to straighten up again
Not twisted
But wise from the mind of the earth,
Autumn maple.

* * *

Sad time! Eye charm!
Your farewell beauty is pleasant to me -
I love the lush nature of wilting,
In scarlet and gold clad forests
In their canopy of the wind, noise and fresh breath,
And the heavens are covered with a hazy wavy
And a rare ray of the sun, and the first frosts,
And a distant gray-haired winter threat.

Interesting poems by Russian poets

* * *

Summer has passed
Autumn has come.
In the fields and groves
Empty and dull.
The birds flew away
The days are shorter
The sun is not visible
Dark, dark nights.

* * *

Autumn has come
The flowers are dry
And they look sadly
Bare bushes.
Withers and turns yellow
Grass in the meadows
Only turns green
Winter in the fields.
A cloud covers the sky
The sun doesn't shine
The wind howls in the field
Rain drizzles ..
Noisy water
Fast creek
The birds flew away
To warmer climes.

* * *

Dry corn stalks in the fields
Traces of wheels and faded tops.
In the cold sea - pale jellyfish
And red underwater grass.
Fields and autumn. Sea and nude
Cliffs of rocks. Here is the night and we go
To the dark shore. At sea - lethargy
In all his great sacrament.
“Do you see water?” - “I see only mercury
Foggy brilliance ... ”Neither the sky nor the earth.
Only star shine hangs beneath us - in the muddy
Endless phosphoric dust.

* * *

Late fall. The rooks flew away
The forest was exposed, the fields were empty
Only one strip is not compressed ...
She brings a sad thought.
Ears seem to whisper to each other:
“It's boring for us to listen to the autumn blizzard,
Boring down to the ground
Fat grains bathing in the dust!
Every night we are ruined by the villages1
Every flying gluttonous bird
A hare tramples us, and a storm hits us ...
Where is our plowman? what else awaits?
Or are we worse than others?
Or bloomed unsteadily?
Not! we are no worse than others - and for a long time
The grain has poured and ripened in us.
Not for the same he plowed and sowed
So that the autumn wind dispels us? .. ”
The wind brings them a sad answer:
“Your little farmer has no piss.”
He knew why he sowed and sowed,
Yes, I can’t start a job.
Poor poor man - he doesn’t eat and drink,
A worm sucks his sick heart,
Hands that brought these furrows,
Dried to a sliver, hung like a whip.
His eyes were dim and his voice was gone
What a mournful song he sang
Like a plow, laying on his hand,
Plowman thoughtfully walked a strip.

* * *

We did not notice a bug
And the winter frames were closed
And he’s alive, he’s alive for now,
Buzzing in the window
Spreading its wings ...
And I call my mother for help:
-There's a live bug!
Let's open the frame!

* * *

Autumn looked into the garden -
The birds flew away.
Outside the window in the morning rustling
Yellow blizzards.
Under the feet the first ice
Crumbles, breaks.
Sparrow in the garden will breathe
And sing it -
Shy.

* * *

Covers a leaf of gold
Wet ground in the forest ...
Feel free to stomp my foot
Spring forest beauty.
Cheeks burn with cold;
Anyway in the forest I run
Hear the boughs crack
Leaves raking a foot!
I have no previous pleasures here!
Forest with a secret combined:
The last nut is torn
Tied the last flower;
Moss is not raised, not blown up
A pile of curly breasts;
About a stump not hanging
Purple lingonberry brushes;
Long on the leaves, lies
The nights are frost and through the forest
It looks cold somehow
Clarity of transparent skies ...
The leaves rustle under the foot;
Death eats its harvest ...
Only I have fun in my soul
And how crazy I sing!
I know, not without reason among the mosses
The early snowdrop I tore;
Up to the autumn flowers
I have met every flower.
What the soul told them
What did they tell her -
I remember breathing happiness
On winter nights and days!
The leaves rustle under my foot ...
Death eats its harvest!
Only I have fun in my soul -
And how crazy I sing!

* * *

Autumn leaves circle in the wind
Autumn leaves scream in alarm:
“Everything perishes, everything perishes! You are black and naked
O dear forest, your end has come! ”
Do not hear the alarm of their royal forest.
Under the dark azure of harsh skies
Mighty dreams swaddled him
And strength ripens in him for the new spring.

Short poems about the fall for children will help to quickly remember and keep in mind these beautiful lines. You probably noticed when the verse begins with the words: "the leaves have dried up and the flowers are no longer blooming." In children's collections it is often so, in order to clearly show in a poem about autumn that there is a change in the season and that everything is changing.

We have presented you poems that, in our opinion, well personify this time of year. And what verse about autumn will you choose?