Poets about their native land. Children's poems about the homeland, about Rus', about Russia

Take care of Russia

Take care of her peace and quiet,
This is the sky and the sun, this bread is on the table
And a native window in a forgotten village.

Take care of Russia so that it is strong,
To save us from trouble in difficult times.
She knows no fears, and her steel is strong.
And she doesn’t feel sorry for the last shirt for her friend.

Take care of Russia, we cannot live without it.
Take care of it so that it will last forever
Our truth and strength, our proud destiny.
Take care of Russia, there is no other Russia.

Feeling of Motherland

Motherland, harsh and sweet,
Remembers all the brutal battles.
Groves grow over the graves,
Nightingales glorify life through the groves.
Like a thunderstorm is an iron melody.
Joy or bitter need? !
Everything passes. What remains is the Motherland.
Something that will never change.
They live with her, loving, suffering, rejoicing,
Falling and rising up.
A rainbow triumphs over the storm,
Life triumphs over adversity!
Slowly the story turns,
The chronicle syllable becomes heavier.
Everything is getting old, the Motherland is not getting old,
Old age doesn't let you in.
We have passed centuries with Russia
From the plow to the star wing,
And look - the sky is still blue
And over the Volga the same shadow of an eagle.
The same grasses rise towards the sun,
Just like the unfaded garden of roses,
They love the same way, and they toil with love,
And they suffer like centuries ago.
And a lot more will be done,
Kohl is called to the future journey.
But holy and purer feelings Motherland
People will never find it.
A person is born with this feeling,
Lives with him and dies with him.
Everything will pass, but the Motherland will remain,
If we keep that feeling.
Vladimir Firsov

Motherland

Homeland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
Tatyana Bokova

Key words

IN kindergarten learned
We beautiful words.
They were read for the first time:
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
Spring and summer will fly by.
The foliage will become sunny.
Illuminated with new light
Mom, Motherland, Moscow.
The sun shines kindly on us.
Blue is pouring from the sky.
May they always live in the world
Mom, Motherland, Moscow!

Russia

Russia, you are a great power,
Your spaces are infinitely large.
You have crowned yourself with glory for all ages.
And you have no other way.

The lake captivity crowns your forests.
A cascade of ridges in the mountains hides dreams.
The river flow cures thirst,
And the native steppe will give birth to bread.

We are proud of your cities.
From Brest to Vladivostok the path is open.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And St. Petersburg preserves history.

In your land of wealth there is an inexhaustible stream,
The path to your treasures lies for us.
How little we still know about you.
There is so much we have to study.
Iraida Mordovina

You don’t choose your homeland

From the poem “Your Victory”

They don’t choose their homelands.
Starting to see and breathe
They get a homeland in the world
Immutable, like father and mother.
The days were gray and slanted...
Bad weather chalked the street...
I was born in the fall in Russia,
And Russia accepted me.
Motherland! And joys and sorrows
They were inextricably fused in her.
Motherland! In love. In battle and dispute
You were my ally.
Motherland! Tenderer than the first caress
You taught me to take care
Gold Pushkin's tales.
Gogol's captivating speech,
Clear, spacious nature,
Horizons for hundreds of miles around,
True liberty and freedom,
Caring hand generous gesture.
She gave me restless blood to drink,
The waters of a living spring,
Like frost, burned with love
Russian crazy guy.
I love rolling thunderstorms
Crispy and rolled frost,
Sticky life-giving tears
Morning shining birches,
Nameless river from Izluki.
Quiet evening fields;
I stretch out my hands to you,
My only homeland.
Margarita Aliger

Kremlin stars

The Kremlin stars are shining above us,

Their light reaches everywhere!

The guys have a good homeland,

AND better than that one There is no homeland! (S. Mikhalkov)

It's better not native land

Crane-crane-crane! He flew over a hundred lands.

Flew around, walked around, Wings, strained his legs.

We asked the crane: - Where is best land? -

He answered as he flew by: “There is no better native land!” (P. Voronko)

Motherland

Hills, copses, meadows and fields -

Our dear, green land.

The land where I took my first step,

Where I once came out to the fork in the road.

And I realized that this was the Expanse of Fields -

A piece of my great Fatherland. (G. Ladonshchikov)

Native nest

Song swallows above my window

They sculpt, sculpt a nest. I know it will be there soon

Their parents will wear Moshkara for them.

The little ones will fly out of the nest in summer,

They will fly over the world, But they always

They will know and remember what is in their native land

They will be greeted by a nest Above my window. (G. Ladonshchikov)

Motherland

Homeland is a big, big word!

Let there be no miracles in the world,

If you say this word with your soul,

It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!

It fits exactly half the world:

Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.

Dear city, dear apartment,

Grandma, school, kitten... and me.

A sunny bunny in your palm, a lilac bush outside the window

And there is a mole on the cheek - This is also the Motherland. (T. Bokova)

Motherland

Vernal, cheerful, Eternal, kind,

Plowed with a tractor, sown with happiness -

It's all before our eyes, from south to north!

Dear homeland, fair-haired homeland,

Peaceful-peaceful Russian-Russian. (V. Semernin)

Our Motherland

Our Motherland is beautiful and rich, guys.

It’s a long drive from the capital to any of its borders.

Everything around is our own, dear: Mountains, steppes and forests:

Rivers sparkle blue, Blue skies.

Every city is dear to the heart,

Every rural house is precious.

Everything in battles is taken at some point

And strengthened by labor! (G. Ladonshchikov)

WITH Good morning!

The sun rose over the mountain,

The darkness of the night is blurred by the dawn,

A meadow of flowers, like a painted one.

Good morning, dear land!

The doors creaked noisily,

The early birds began to sing,

They argue loudly with silence.

Good morning, dear land!

People went to work

The bees fill the honeycombs with honey,

There are no clouds in the sky.

Good morning, dear land! (G. Ladonshchikov)

Hello, my Motherland

In the morning the sun rises, calling us outside.

I leave the house: - Hello, my street!

I sing and in silence the birds sing along with me.

The herbs whisper to me on the way: “Hurry up, my friend, grow!”

I answer to the grass, I answer to the wind,

I answer the sun: - Hello, my Motherland! (V. Orlov)

Key words

In kindergarten we learned beautiful words.

They were read for the first time: Mom, Motherland, Moscow.

Spring and summer will fly by. The foliage will become sunny.

Mother, Motherland, Moscow will be illuminated with a new light.

The sun shines kindly on us. Blue is pouring from the sky.

May Mother, Motherland, and Moscow always live in the world! (L. Olifirova)

Our region

Now a birch tree, now a rowan tree, a willow bush over the river.

My native land, forever beloved, Where else can you find something like this!

From the seas to the high mountains, In the middle of our native latitudes -

Everyone is running, the roads are running, And they are calling forward.

The valleys are flooded with sunshine, and wherever you look -

My native land, forever beloved, is in full bloom like a spring garden.

Our childhood is golden! You are getting brighter every day

Under lucky star We live in our native land! (A. Alien)

What we call Motherland

What do we call Motherland? The house where you and I live,

And the birch trees along which we walk next to our mother.

What do we call Motherland? A field with a thin spikelet,

Our holidays and songs, Warm evening outside the window.

What do we call Motherland? Everything that we cherish in our hearts,

And under the blue-blue sky, the Russian flag is over the Kremlin. (V. Stepanov)

Vast country

If we fly for a long, long, long time on an airplane,

If we look at Russia for a long, long, long time,

Then we will see both forests and cities,

Ocean spaces, ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...

We will see the endless distance, the Tundra, where spring rings,

And then we will understand how big our Motherland is,

An immense country. (V. Stepanov)

What is our Motherland!

An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.

The gardens stand thoughtfully.

What an elegant homeland,

She herself is like a wonderful garden!

The river plays with riffles,

The fish in it are all made of silver,

A leisurely wave is flowing,

The vastness of the fields is pleasing to the eye.

What a happy homeland

And this happiness is all for us! (V. Bokov)

Motherland

Have your own native land

By the stream and by the crane.

And you and I have it -

And there is only one native land (P. Sinyavsky)

Russia

Here the warm field is filled with rye,

Here the dawns splash in the palms of the meadows.

Here are the golden-winged angels of God

They came down from the clouds along the rays of light.

And they watered the land with holy water,

And the blue expanse was overshadowed with a cross.

And we have no homeland except Russia -

Here is mother, here is the temple, here is the father’s house. (P. Sinyavsky)

Drawing

In my drawing there is a field with spikelets,

Church on the hill Next to the clouds.

In my drawing, Mom and friends,

In my drawing, my homeland.

In my drawing there are rays of dawn,

Grove and river, Sun and summer

In my drawing, my homeland.

In my drawing, daisies have grown,

A rider on a horse is galloping along the path,

In my drawing there is a Rainbow and me,

In my drawing, my homeland.

In my drawing, Mom and friends,

In my drawing there is a song of a stream,

In my drawing there is a Rainbow and me,

In my drawing my Motherland. (P. Sinyavsky)

Native song

The cheerful sun is pouring in golden streams

Over the gardens and over the villages, Over the fields and meadows.

Here are simple plantains that have been dear to us since childhood.

Poplar powders swirled at the edge of the forest,

And strawberry freckles scattered throughout the grove.

Here there are mushroom rains, colored rainbows are shining,

Here are simple plantains that have been dearest since childhood

And again the flocks of swallows danced over the house,

To sing again about the Motherland to the bells of our acquaintances. (P. Sinyavsky)

Native land

Cheerful forest, native fields,

Rivers meander, flowering slope,

Hills and villages, free space

And the melodious ringing of bells.

With your smile, with your breath

I'm merging. Immense,

Preserved by Christ

My native land,

My love. (M. Pozharova)

Motherland

If they say the word “homeland”, it immediately comes to mind

An old house, currants in the garden, a thick poplar at the gate,

By the river there is a modest birch tree and a daisy hillock.

And others will probably remember their native Moscow courtyard

The first boats are in the puddles, Where recently there was a skating rink,

And the big neighboring factory loud, joyful whistle.

Or the steppe red with poppies, golden virgin soil.

Homeland can be different, but everyone has the same one! (Z. Alexandrova)

Above our native land

Airplanes are flying over our fields.

And I shout to the pilots: “Take me with you!”

So that I fly over my native land like an arrow,

I saw rivers, mountains, valleys and lakes,

and the swell of the Black Sea, and the boats in the open air,

the plains in riotous color and all the children in the world!” (R. Bosilek)

Rain, rain, where have you been?

Rain, rain, where have you been?

I was floating across the sky with a cloud!

And then you crashed?

Oh, no, no, it spilled with water,

Dripped, dripped down, fell -

I fell straight into the river!

And then I sailed far away

In the fast, blue-eyed river,

Loved it with all my heart

Our Motherland is great!

Well, then it evaporated,

Attached to a white cloud,

And I swam, I tell you,

To distant countries, islands.

And now over the ocean

I'm still floating into the distance with the fog!

We need to swim back.

To meet the river,

To rush with her into the native forest!

To admire with your soul

Our Motherland is big.

So, wind, my friend

We are hurrying home with the cloud!

You, wind, urge us on -

Point the cloud towards the house!

After all, I miss home.

Come on, I’ll rock the cloud!

I'm in such a hurry to get home...

I'll be back to you soon! (K. Avdeenko)

Go beyond the seas and oceans

Go beyond the seas and oceans, You must fly over the whole earth:

There are different countries in the world, but one like ours cannot be found.

Our bright waters are deep, the land is wide and free,

And the factories thunder, without ceasing, And the fields rustle, blossoming. (M. Isakovsky)

Home country

In the wide open space before dawn

Scarlet dawns have risen over our native country.

Dear lands become more and more beautiful every year.

There is nothing better than our Motherland, friends! (A. Prokofiev)

Hello

Hello to you, my native land,

With your dark forests,

With your great river,

And endless fields!

Hello to you, dear people,

Tireless hero of labor,

In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!

Hello to you, my native land! (S. Drozhzhin)

baby crane

The warmth has gone from the fields, and a flock of cranes

The leader leads to the green overseas land.

The wedge flies sadly, and only one is cheerful,

One stupid little crane.

He rushes into the clouds, hurries the leader,

But the leader says to him sternly:

- Even though that land is warmer, And the homeland is nicer,

Miley - remember, little crane, this word.

Remember the sound of the birches and that steep slope,

Where your mother saw you flying;

Remember forever, Otherwise never

My friend, you won’t become a real crane.

We have snow, We have a blizzard

And somewhere in the distance the cranes are crowing,

They mumble about their snow-covered homeland. (I. Shaferan)

Poems about the Motherland

“Who Lives Well in Rus'” and “The Tale of Igor’s Campaign” - usually from these works children learn for the first time about the history of their Motherland, about peasant people, about traditions and customs Ancient Rus'. They are both filled with a feeling of deep patriotism, they glorify the nature of Mother Russia, talk about the Russian soul and the problems of the country. Many poems about Russia for children today are included in school curriculum on literature.

In the 20th century, when the country was maturing October Revolution, when there were a lot of problems in the country, poetry for children became more deep meaning, the authors forced them with their quatrains to think about future fate Motherland. Poems about Russia for children during this period of time were written by Sergei Yesenin, Alexander Blok and Vladimir Mayakovsky. Everyone understood in their own way the changes taking place in the country in connection with the revolution. But their love for Russia allowed them to create a whole series wonderful poems and poems.

I will chant
With the whole being in the poet
Sixth of the land
With a short name "Rus".

Every schoolchild knows this poem by Sergei Yesenin; teachers ask him and other poems about Russia for children to teach the children by heart. Most of Sergei Alexandrovich's works were dedicated to native land, he admired the eared meadows, sang the slenderness of the birch trees and the vastness of the fields. Yesenin’s poems are like an oath of allegiance to one’s Fatherland:

If the holy army shouts:
"Throw away Rus', live in paradise!"
I will say: "There is no need for heaven,
Give me my homeland."

Although the poet was married for some time to a foreign dancer Isadora Duncan, and traveled with her to many countries of the world, he was always drawn home, he never wanted to exchange his homeland for foreign lands.

Another great poet– Alexander Blok, imbued with love for his native land back in early childhood. Coming to Shakhmatovo as a child every summer, he fell in love with the beauty of nature. One of his first poems about Russia for children was this work:

Apparently, the golden days have come.
All the trees stand as if in a radiance.
At night the cold blows from the ground;
In the morning, a white church in the distance
And close and clear in outline.

Blok was a symbolist poet, and he described the Motherland somewhat differently than other authors. For him, she was both a lover and a mother, but he did not seek to personify her as a woman. An entire cycle called “Motherland” was dedicated to the poet home country, this includes the works “Russia” and “My Rus', my life...” known to every teenager. You can't ignore and historical poem Block “On the Kulikovo Field”:

O my Rus'! My wife! To the point of pain
We have a long way to go!
Our path is an arrow of the ancient Tatar will
Pierced us through the chest.

Each of us knows by heart since childhood Vladimir Mayakovsky’s work “What is good and what is bad?”, but this poet also composed many poems about Russia for children. Let us quote one of the most famous, which is called “Russia”:

Here I come, overseas ostrich,
in the feathers of stanzas, meters and rhymes.
I try to hide my head, stupid,
there is a ringing explosion in the plumage.

This is the beginning, and here is the end of the work:

Well, take me with your vile grip!
Trim the feathers with the razor of the wind.
Let me disappear, stranger and overseas,
under the fury of all Decembers.

Mayakovsky had his own way of confessing his love and devotion to the Motherland, although in these lines we do not see a description beautiful scenery, like Yesenin, there are no words “my Rus'” here, you still understand through the lines what the poet wanted to say. Almost every poet wrote poems about Russia for children, but the most bright works we can also read from Afanasy Fet, Fyodor Tyutchev, Alexander Pushkin and Marina Tsvetaeva. "What do we call Motherland?"
What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom.

What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.

What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin.
© Stepanov Vladimir

There is no better native land
Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? -
He answered as he flew by:
- There is no better native land!
© P. Voronko

For peace, for children
In any part of any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They need peace, not war,
The green noise of the native forest,
They each need a school, And a garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There's a lot of space in this world
For those who are used to living by hard work.
Our people raised an imperious voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let every ear of corn ripen in the field,
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Who sows bread in a peaceful field,
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphan's share
He will never wish!
© E. Trutneva

About the Motherland
What is called my homeland?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?
That autumn birch tree over there?
Or spring drops?
Or maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a frosty winter day?
Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without my mother's care, dear,
And without friends I don’t feel the same.
That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be side by side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!

Oh, Motherland!
Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woods, woods -
Everything I love without memory:
And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...
My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.
© A.V. Zhigulin

Kremlin stars
Kremlin stars
They are burning above us,
Their light reaches everywhere!
The guys have a good homeland,
And there is no better homeland!
© S. Mikhalkov

Motherland
Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!
It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.
Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
© Tatyana Bokova

Vast country
If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia.
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...
We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings.
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.

Russia is my Motherland!
Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I grew and grew before Your eyes.
I walk forward confidently and straight,
And I believe in God who lives in heaven!
I love the ringing of Your church bells,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!
I love slender, tall birch trees -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist I write my poems.
I could never part with you,
Because I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight,
At any moment I want to be only with You!
And if suddenly it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
I will fight like a bird in a tight cage,
And every Russian here will understand me!
© E. Kislyakov

Motherland!
Hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
Native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland.
© G. Ladonshchikov

Our Motherland!
And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
It's a long drive from the capital
To any of its borders.
Everything around you is your own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
The rivers sparkle blue,
Blue skies.
Every city
Dear to the heart,
Every rural house is precious.
Everything in battles is taken at some point
And strengthened by labor!
© G. Ladonshchikov

Hello, my Motherland! In the morning the sun rises,
He's calling us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!
I sing in silence too
The birds sing along with me.
The herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry up, my friend, grow up!
I answer to herbs,
I answer the wind
I answer the sun:
- Hello, my Motherland!
© V. Orlov

What is our Motherland!
An apple tree blooms over a quiet river.
The gardens stand thoughtfully.
What an elegant homeland,
She herself is like a wonderful garden!
The river plays with riffles,
The fish in it are all made of silver,
What a rich homeland,
You can’t count her goodness!
A leisurely wave is flowing,
The vastness of the fields is pleasing to the eye.
What a happy homeland
And this happiness is all for us!
© V. Bokov

Motherland
If they say the word “homeland”,
Immediately comes to mind
Old house, currants in the garden,
Thick poplar at the gate,
A modest birch tree by the river
And a chamomile hillock...
And others will probably remember
Your native Moscow courtyard.
The first boats are in the puddles,
Where was the skating rink recently?
And a large neighboring factory
Loud, joyful whistle.
Or the steppe is red with poppies,
Virgin gold...
Homeland is different
But everyone has one!
© Z. Alexandrova

Hello
Hello to you, my native land,
With your dark forests,
With your great river,
And endless fields!
Hello to you, dear people,
Tireless hero of labor,
In the middle of winter and in the summer heat!
Hello to you, my native land!
© S. Drozhzhin

Motherland
Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.
But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance
You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.
A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaky carriage.
Sandy shore with low willow trees.
This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable.
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.
Yes. You can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.
© K. Simonov

About the Motherland, only about the Motherland
What is this song of weeping birches about?
A melody full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
What's behind the cold granite borders?
The melancholy of birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
In moments of sadness, in times of adversity
Who will take care of us and who will save us?
Motherland, only Motherland.
Who do we need to warm in the bitter cold?
And in difficult days should we feel sorry?
Motherland, dear Motherland.
When we go on interstellar flight,
What is our earthly heart singing about?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
We live in the name of goodness and love,
AND best songs yours and mine -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland...
Under the scorching sun and snow dust
And my thoughts and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
© R. Gamzatov

Where does the Motherland begin?
Where does the Motherland begin?
From the smiles and tears of mothers;
From the path the boys walked,
From home to school doors.
From birch trees that have stood for centuries
On a hill in my father's land,
With a desire to touch with your hands
My beloved land.
Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you won’t see the boundaries,
In the fields the horizon expands
With a flash of distant lightning.
And at night in its blue seas
A wave lulls the stars.
Russia has no end;
It is boundless, like a song.
So what are you? Homeland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems very familiar,
And you look - and your heart burns.
And it seems: you can take a running start
Take off without fear of heights,
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country.
© K. Ibryaev

P. Voronko

Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? - He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!

Motherland

M. Yu. Lermontov

I love my fatherland, but with a strange love!
My reason will not defeat her.
Nor glory bought with blood,
Nor the peace full of proud trust,
Nor the dark old treasured legends
No joyful dreams stir within me.

But I love - for what, I don’t know myself -
Its steppes are coldly silent,
Her boundless forests sway,
The floods of its rivers are like seas;
On a country road I like to ride in a cart
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,
Meet on the sides, sighing for an overnight stay,
The trembling lights of sad villages;
I love the smoke of burnt stubble,
A convoy spending the night in the steppe
And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field
A couple of white birches.
With joy unknown to many,
I see a complete threshing floor
A hut covered with straw
Window with carved shutters;
And on a holiday, on a dewy evening,
Ready to watch until midnight
To dance with stomping and whistling
Under the talk of drunken men.

Go away, Rus'

Goy, Rus', my dear,
Huts - in the robes of the image...
No end in sight -
Only blue sucks his eyes.
Like a visiting pilgrim,
I'm looking at your fields.
And at the low outskirts
The poplars are dying loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches, your meek Savior.
And it buzzes behind the bush
There is a merry dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the crumpled stitch
Free green forests,
Towards me, like earrings,
A girl's laughter will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
“Throw away Rus', live in paradise!”
I will say: “There is no need for heaven,
Give me my homeland."

Sergey Yesenin
1914

For peace, for children

In any part of any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They need peace, not war,
The green noise of the native forest,
They all need school
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There's a lot of space in this world
For those who are used to living by hard work.
Our people raised an imperious voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let every ear of corn ripen in the field,
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Who sows bread in a peaceful field,
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphan's share
He will never wish!

E. Trutneva

About the Motherland

What is called my homeland?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?

That autumn birch tree over there?
Or spring drops?
Or maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a frosty winter day?

Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without my mother's care, dear,
And without friends I don’t feel the same.

That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be side by side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!

Oh, Motherland!

Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woodlands, copses - Everything that I love without memory:

And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...

My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.

A. V. Zhigulin

Motherland

Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!

It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.

Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.

Tatyana Bokova

Vast country

If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia.
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...

We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings.
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.

Russia is my Motherland!

Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I grew and grew before Your eyes.
I walk forward confidently and straight,
And I believe in God who lives in heaven!

I love the ringing of Your church bells,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!

I love slender, tall birch trees -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist I write my poems.

I could never part with you,
Because I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight,
At any moment I want to be only with You!

And if suddenly it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
I will fight like a bird in a tight cage,
And every Russian here will understand me!

E. Kislyakov

Motherland

We don’t carry them on our chests in our treasured amulet,
We don’t write poems about her sobbingly,
She doesn't wake up our bitter dreams,
Doesn't seem like the promised paradise.
We don’t do it in our souls
Subject of purchase and sale,
Sick, in poverty, speechless on her,
We don't even remember her.
Yes, for us it’s dirt on our galoshes,
Yes, for us it's a crunch in the teeth.
And we grind, and knead, and crumble
Those unmixed ashes.
But we lie down in it and become it,
That's why we call it so freely - ours.

Anna Akhmatova

Native picture

Flocks of birds. Road tape.
A fallen fence.
From the foggy sky
The dim day looks sad,

A row of birches, and the view is sad
Roadside pillar.
As if under the weight of heavy sorrow,
The hut swayed.

Half-light and half-dark, -
And you involuntarily rush into the distance,
And involuntarily crushes the soul
Endless sadness.

Konstantin Balmont

Motherland

I will return to you, fields of my fathers,
Peaceful oak groves, sacred shelter to the heart!
I will return to you, home icons!
Let others respect the laws of decency;
Let others honor the jealous judgment of the ignorant;
Free at last from vain hopes,
From restless dreams, from windy desires,
Having drunk the whole cup of trials untimely,
Not the ghost of happiness, but I need happiness.
Tired worker, I hasten to my native country
Fall asleep in the desired sleep under the roof of your dear one.
O fatherly house! O land, always beloved!
Dear heavens! my silent voice
In pensive verses I sang you in a foreign land,
You will bring me peace and happiness.
Like a swimmer in a pier, tested by bad weather,
He listens with a smile, sitting above the abyss,
And the thunderous whistle of the storm and the rebellious roar of the waves,
So, the sky is not begging for honors and gold,
A calm homebody in my unknown house,
Hiding from the crowd of demanding judges,
In the circle of your friends, in the circle of your family,
I will look from afar at the storms of light.
No, no, I will not cancel my sacred vow!
Let the fearless hero fly to the tents;
Let the young lover have bloody battles
He studies with excitement, ruining his golden watch,
The science of measuring combat trenches -
Since childhood, I have loved the sweetest works.
The diligent, peaceful plow, exploding the reins,
More honorable than the sword; useful in a modest way,
I want to cultivate my father's field.
Oratai, who reached the ancient days over the plow,
In sweet worries my mentor will be;
My decrepit father's sons are hardworking
They will help clarify hereditary fields.
And you, my old friend, my faithful friend,
My zealous nurturer, you, the first vegetable garden
Who scouted his father's fields in the days of yore!
You will lead me to your dense gardens,
Tell me the names of the trees and flowers;
I myself, when a luxurious spring comes from heaven
Will breathe the joy of the resurrected nature,
I will appear in the garden with a heavy spade;
I’ll come with you to plant roots and flowers.
O blessed feat! you will not be in vain:
The goddess of pastures is more grateful to fortune!
For them an unknown age, for them a pipe and strings;
They are available to everyone and to me for easy work
They will reward you abundantly with juicy fruits.
From the ridges and the spade I hasten to the fields and the plow;
And where the stream flows through the velvet meadow
The desert streams roll thoughtfully,
On a clear spring day, I myself, my friends,
I’ll plant a secluded forest near the shore,
And fresh linden and silvered poplar;
My young great-grandson will rest in their shade;
There friendship will once hide my ashes
And instead of marble he will put it on the tomb
And my peaceful spade and my peaceful spear.

Evgeny Baratynsky

There is a sweet country, there is a corner on earth

There is a sweet country, there is a corner on earth,
Wherever, wherever you are - in the midst of a riotous camp,
In the Armidine gardens, on a fast ship,
Having fun wandering the plains of the ocean, -
We are always carried away by our thoughts;
Where, alien to base passions,
We assign a limit to everyday exploits,
Where the world we hope to forget someday
And close the old eyelids
We wish you the last, eternal sleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I remember a clear, clean pond;
Over the canopy of branchy birches,
Among the peaceful waters its three islands bloom;
Brightening the fields between their wavy groves,
Behind him there is a mountain, in front of him there is a noise in the bushes
And the mill splashes. Village, wide meadow,
And there happy House...the soul flies there,
I wouldn’t be cold there even in my deep old age!
There the languid, sick heart found
The answer to everything that was burning inside him,
And again for love, for friendship it blossomed
And happiness understood again.
Why the languid sigh and tears in the eyes?
She, with a painful blush on her cheeks,
She, who is not there, flashed before me.
Rest, rest easily under the grave turf:
A memory alive
We will not be separated from you!
We're crying... but I'm sorry! The sadness of love is sweet.
Tears of regret are wonderful!
Or cold, harsh melancholy,
The dry sorrow of disbelief.

Evgeny Baratynsky

Rus

You are extraordinary even in your dreams.
I won't touch your clothes.
I doze - and behind the doze there is a secret,
And in secret - you will rest, Rus'.

Rus' is surrounded by rivers
And surrounded by wilds,
With swamps and cranes,
And with the dull gaze of a sorcerer,

Where are the diverse peoples
From edge to edge, from valley to valley
They lead night dances
Under the glow of burning villages.

Where are the sorcerers and sorcerers?
The grains in the fields are enchanting
And the witches are having fun with the devils
In road snow pillars.

Where the blizzard sweeps violently
Up to the roof - fragile housing,
And the girl on the evil friend
Under the snow it sharpens the blade.

Where are all the paths and all the crossroads
Exhausted with a living stick,
And a whirlwind whistling in the bare twigs,
Sings old legends...

So - I found out in my slumber
Country of birth poverty,
And in the scraps of her rags
I hide my nakedness from my soul.

The path is sad, night
I trampled to the graveyard,
And there, spending the night in the cemetery,
He sang songs for a long time.

And I didn’t understand, I didn’t measure,
To whom did I dedicate the songs?
What god did you passionately believe in?
What kind of girl did you love?

I rocked a living soul,
Rus', in your vastness you are,
And so - she did not stain
Initial purity.

I doze - and behind the doze there is a secret,
And Rus' rests in secret.
She is extraordinary in dreams too,
I won't touch her clothes.

Alexander Blok

About Motherland

O Motherland, O new
Shelter with a golden roof,
Trumpet, moo cow,
Roar the body of thunder.

I wander through the blue villages,
Such grace
Desperate, cheerful,
But I am all about you, mother.

At the school of revelry
I strengthened my flesh and mind.
From the birch tree
Your spring noise is growing.

I love your vices
And drunkenness and robbery,
And in the morning in the east
Lose yourself as a star.

And all of you, as I know,
I want to crush it and take it,
And I curse bitterly
Because you are my mother.

Sergey Yesenin

Is it my side, my side?

Is it my side, my side,
Burning streak.
Only the forest and the salt shaker,
Yes, the spit beyond the river...

The old church is withering away,
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And a sick cuckoo
Doesn't fly from sad places.

Is it for you, my side,
In high water every year
With a pad and a knapsack
Goddamn sweat pours out.

Faces are dusty, tanned,
The eyelid has gnawed away the distance,
And dug into the thin body
Sadness saved the meek.

Sergey Yesenin

You can't understand Russia with your mind

You can't understand Russia with your mind,
The general arshin cannot be measured:
She will become special -
You can only believe in Russia.

Fedor Tyutchev

These poor villages

These poor villages
This meager nature -
The native land of long-suffering,
You are the land of the Russian people!

He won't understand or notice
Proud look of a foreigner,
What shines through and secretly shines
In your humble nakedness.

Dejected by the burden of the godmother,
All of you, dear land,
In slave form, the King of Heaven
He came out blessing.

Fedor Tyutchev

From the wilds the fogs timidly

From the wilds the fogs timidly
My native village was closed;
But the spring sun warmed me
And the wind blew them away.

To know, to wander for a long time and get bored
Over the vastness of lands and seas,
A cloud is reaching home,
Just to cry over her.

Afanasy Fet

Homeland

They mock you
They, O Motherland, reproach
You with your simplicity,
Poor looking black huts...

So son, calm and impudent,
Ashamed of his mother -
Tired, timid and sad
Among his city friends,

Looks with a smile of compassion
To the one who wandered hundreds of miles
And for him, on the date of the date,
She saved her last penny.

Ivan Bunin

Russia

In the hundredth glow of the fire,
Under the ardent cry of worldwide hostility,
In the smoke of untamed storms, -
Your appearance radiates with imperious charm:
Ruby and sapphire crown
The azure pierced above the clouds!

Russia! in the evil days of Batu
Who, who to the Mongol flood
Built the dam, weren't you?
Whose, in tense will, howl,
For the price of slavery, she saved Europe
From Genghis Khan's heel?

But from the deep depths of shame,
From the darkness of constant humiliation,
Suddenly, with a bright cry from the fire, -
Is it not you, with the scorching steel of your gaze,
Ascended to the sovereignty of commands
During the days of Peter's revolution?

And again, at the hour of global reckoning,
Breathing through cannon barrels,
Your chest swallowed fire, -
All ahead, country leader,
You raised a torch above the darkness,
Illuminating the way for the people.

What do we have to do with this terrible force?
Where are you, who dares to contradict?
Where are you, who can know fear?
We just have to do what you decide
We - to be with you, we - to praise
Your greatness endures for centuries!

Valery Bryusov

Russia

Again, like in the golden years,
Three worn out flapping harnesses,
And the painted knitting needles knit
Into loose ruts...

Russia, poor Russia,
I want your gray huts,
Your songs are like wind to me, -
Like the first tears of love!

I don't know how to feel sorry for you
And I carefully carry my cross...
Which sorcerer do you want?
Give me your robber beauty!

Let him lure and deceive, -
You won't be lost, you won't perish,
And only care will cloud
Your beautiful features...

Well? One more concern -
The river is noisier with one tear
And you are still the same - forest and field,
Yes, the patterned board goes up to the eyebrows...

And the impossible is possible
The long road is easy
When the road flashes in the distance
An instant glance from under a scarf,
When it rings with guarded melancholy
The dull song of the coachman!..

Alexander Blok

***
Winter evening
Nikolay Rubtsov

The wind is not the wind -
I'm leaving home!
It's familiar in the stable
The straw crunches
And the light is shining...

And more -
not a sound!
Not a light!
Blizzard in the darkness
Flying over bumps...

Eh, Rus', Russia!
Why am I not calling enough?
Why are you sad?
Why did you doze off?

Let's wish
Good night everybody!
Let's go for a walk!
Let's have a laugh!

And we'll have a holiday,
And we'll reveal the cards...
Eh! The trump cards are fresh.
And the same fools.

***
“My quiet homeland!..”
Nikolay Rubtsov

Quiet my homeland!
Willows, river, nightingales...
My mother is buried here
In my childhood years.

Where is the churchyard? You did not see?
I can’t find it myself.-
The residents answered quietly:
- It's on the other side.

The residents answered quietly,
The convoy passed quietly.
Church monastery dome
Overgrown with bright grass.

Where I swam for fish
Hay is rowed into the hayloft:
Between river bends
People dug a canal.

Tina is now a swamp
Where I loved to swim...
My quiet homeland
I haven't forgotten anything.

New fence in front of the school
The same green space.
Like a cheerful crow
I'll sit on the fence again!

My school is wooden!..
The time will come to leave -
The river behind me is foggy
He will run and run.

With every bump and cloud,
With thunder ready to fall,
I feel the most burning
The most mortal connection.

***
Star of the Fields
Nikolay Rubtsov

Star of the fields, in the icy darkness
Stopping, he looks into the wormwood.
The clock has already rung twelve,
And sleep enveloped my homeland...

Star of the fields! In moments of turmoil
I remembered how quiet it was behind the hill
She burns over the autumn gold,
It burns over the winter silver...

The star of the fields burns without fading,
For all the anxious inhabitants of the earth,
Touching with your welcoming ray
All the cities that rose in the distance.

But only here, in the icy darkness,
She rises brighter and fuller,
And I'm happy as long as I'm in this world
The star of my fields is burning, burning...

***
HOMELAND
Konstantin Simonov

Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.

But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance

You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.

A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaking carriage,
Sandy shore with low willow trees.

This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable,
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.

Yes, you can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.

There the skies and waters are clear!

V. Zhukovsky

There the skies and waters are clear!
There the songs of the birds are sweet!
O homeland! all your days are beautiful!
Wherever I am, but everything is with you
Soul.

Do you remember how under the mountain,
Silvered with dew,
The ray turned white in the evening
And silence flew into the forest
From heaven?

Do you remember our calm pond,
And the shadow from the willows at the sultry hour of noon,
And over the water there is a discordant roar from the herd,
And in the bosom of the waters, as if through glass,
Village?

There, at dawn, a little bird sang;
The distance lit up and brightened;
There, there my soul flew:
It seemed to the heart and eyes -
Everything is there!..