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Oh, autumn, how beautiful you are!

Quote of the message Lena_Bov

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Oh, autumn, how beautiful you are!

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Oh, autumn, how beautiful you are,
His farewell beauty,
The trees are brightly colored,
Crimson, golden foliage,
In you solemn winds,
The frozen poplar bend,
And belated dawns,
They smell of damp, rain.
When the leaves are spinning around,
How good then is sadness,
Hang for a while in my thoughts,
Sitting to look somewhere into the distance.
Majestic maples are silent,
Glittering frost on the grass,
A day, braked and sleepy,
In the sky-gray blueness.
Your first thin ice in the puddles,
Icicle drops of crystal,
In the evening, listen to the songs of the wind,
The wet earth will cool,
And the sun is hazy radiant,
The shadow will shine and sad again.
You're all fluffy,
You'll cover on the penultimate day.
Nelly Vakhrusheva
La Vie En Rose
We always remember happiness.
And happiness is everywhere. Maybe it's
This is the autumn garden behind the barn
And clean air pouring out the window.
In the bottomless sky a light white edge
The cloud is rising and shining. Long
I follow him ... We see little, we know,
And happiness is only given to those who know.
The window is open. Squeaked and sat down
On the window sill is a bird. And from books
I take a weary look for a moment.
The day is dusk, the sky is empty.
The grind of the thresher is heard on the threshing floor ...
I see, I hear, I'm happy. Everything is in me.
IA Bunin

* * * Everything is calm and everything is open!
How on earth it became quiet and poor!
The garden is showered - everything is forgotten in it,
The sky is large and cold-pale ...
The sky is far, is not Candido Portinari paintings

it you, dumb
Do you frighten me with your space? & Lt;
Here, in this poverty, where everything is native,
I meet the autumn with a joyful look.
The fire of the fall leaves is scattered,
And rare colors are affectionately bright;
More tits flicker from the garden,
And how quietly they are in the forgotten park!
And only at night, when it rages
Autumn wind, everything is alien again ...
And a lonely heart yearns:
Oh, if the closeness of the heart of the native!
IA Bunin


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