The rye is ripening over the hot fields,
And from the field to the field
The whimsical wind blows
Golden shimmers.

The moon looks timidly into the eyes,
I'm amazed that the day hasn't passed,
But wide into the area of ​​the night
The day spread its arms.

Above the boundless harvest of bread
Between sunset and east
Just for a moment the sky closes
Fire-breathing eye.

Analysis of Fet’s poem “The rye is ripening over the hot fields...”

The second half of the nineteenth century in literary Russia was marked by the struggle between representatives of the “natural school” and “pure art”. The conceptual difference between the two movements lay in the attitude towards the reflection of social problems in creativity. Supporters of the “natural school” believed that works of art should describe people’s troubles and the political situation. Realism became the main method. Adherents of “pure art” tried to distance themselves as much as possible from the problems of the outside world in their creativity. They devoted their poems to the themes of love and nature, and philosophical reflections.

Fet was also an apologist for “pure art”. He believed that it was impossible to accurately convey things and phenomena in words. His landscape lyrics are a captured moment, described through the prism of individual perception. Often, Afanasy Afanasievich’s poems recorded transitional moments and states of nature. Such is the work “Rye is Ripening over a Hot Field...”, dated to the end of the 1850s and first published in the magazine “Russian Messenger” in 1860.

The sunset appears before the readers. The day has almost come to an end, but the night has not yet come into its own. This borderline time is accurately and briefly described by Fet in the last three lines of the poem:
...Between sunset and east
Just for a moment the sky closes
Fire-breathing eye.

Afanasy Afanasievich does not paint a picture of some abstract sunset. Its landscape is truly Russian. It is not for nothing that it contains rye - the breadwinner plant for simple village people. The endless plain is another integral feature of the landscape of central Russia. Therefore, Fet’s grain harvest is characterized by the adjective “boundless.” Before the eyes of the readers there clearly appears a picture of our native endless expanses, a rye field, along which you can run for a long, long time, with your arms outstretched.

There is only one color characteristic in the poem - the poet called the iridescence golden. With the help of this adjective, Afanasy Afanasievich manages to convey the mood of the picture he is drawing, to create the atmosphere of a hot summer day at its end. The word “golden” in the work “Rye is Ripening...” exudes warmth, tenderness and even the smell of freshly baked bread. It’s amazing how Fet, through precisely noticed details, breathes life into the depicted landscape.

The rye is ripening over the hot fields,
And from the field to the field
The whimsical wind blows
Golden shimmers.

The moon looks timidly into the eyes,
I'm amazed that the day hasn't passed,
But wide into the area of ​​the night
The day spread its arms.

Above the boundless harvest of bread
Between sunset and east
Just for a moment the sky closes
Fire-breathing eye.

Analysis of the poem “The rye is ripening over the hot fields” by Fet

A. Fet is one of the main propagandists and defenders of the school of “pure” art in Russian poetry. At the same time, the poet is considered an outstanding landscape lyricist. He wrote a huge number of poems describing the beauty of Russian nature. One of them is the work “The rye is ripening over the hot field...”.

This poem clearly demonstrates the key features of Fetov’s lyrics. The poet strives not to describe the physical properties of natural objects and phenomena, but to convey the sensations of the invisible lyrical hero. Moreover, he does this so subtly that the reader does not immediately guess why the depicted picture appears so easily and directly before his eyes. The presence of a person is evidenced only by the line “the moon timidly looks into the eyes,” but this is enough to feel complete presence.

Another favorite technique of Fet is the personification of nature: “the wind is driving,” “the month ... is amazed,” “the day has spread its arms.” The poet surprisingly accurately selects verbs for natural phenomena that are as similar as possible to human actions. Thus, the natural and the human merge in absolute harmony. Treating nature with great tenderness and warmth, Fet makes it clear that human presence is not so necessary, since the world around us lives according to its own laws.

The poet was most attracted to the description of special borderline states. In the poem in question, this is a sunset: “only for a moment does a fire-breathing eye close the sky.” This also reveals the impressionism of Fet, who never unfolds the picture in time, but strives to capture an elusive moment. Fet's work as a whole is very close to painting and music. Several bright and strong “strokes” (“over a hot field”, “golden tints”) give a complete and comprehensive picture, in which there is not a single unnecessary detail. The image of nature that appears in the reader’s mind and instantly disappears leaves behind a feeling of scale, thanks to the only epithet “boundless”.

In general, in the poem “Rye is ripening over a hot field...” Fet, as always, manages to capture the very essence of the phenomenon, using a minimum of expressive means. The poet fulfills his main task - to convey to the reader a feeling, to make him for a moment find himself in the place of the supposed lyrical hero.

Lesson 2 4. A . Fet "Mother ! Look - ka from window ... » , "It's maturing rye above hot cornfield ... »

Goals: introduce students to A. Fet’s poems “Mom! Look from the window...”, “The rye is ripening over the hot cornfield...”; teach the correct reading of poetry, see and understand the mood of the lyrical hero; develop memory, speech, thinking.

Planned results: students should be able to read poems, conveying the poet’s mood using intonation; distinguish between poetic and prose texts; observe the life of words in a literary text, explain interesting expressions in a lyrical text; observe the repetition of stressed and unstressed syllables in a word (rhythm), find rhyming words.

Equipment: paintings on the theme of autumn; cards (text of speech warm-up, tasks); collections of poems by A. Fet, his portrait.

Move lesson

I . Organizational moment

II . Examination home tasks

Expressive reading of poems by F.I. Tyutcheva. Show illustrations that the children have prepared.

III . Speech warm-up

He's spinning

Lightweight, new,

Over the guys' heads.

He managed a down scarf

Spread over the pavement.

Y. Akim

- Read it in a buzzing manner.

- What is this poem about? What would you call it?(This is a poem about the first snow. You could call it “First Snow.”)

- What does the poet compare the blanket of snow to?(He compares it to a down scarf.)

- Let's read, starting in a whisper, then increasing our voice. (Reading by children.)

- And now it’s the other way around: let’s start loudly, then reduce the strength of our voice to a whisper.

- Read expressively, beautifully, as you understand this poem.

- Guess the riddles of O. Druzhkova.

White fluff will fall to the ground,

The swan's down will cover the earth,

It will sparkle, it will sparkle,

It will turn into bright pearls.(Snow.)

Downhill - a horse, uphill - a piece of wood.(Sled.)

The tablecloth spread out

There is enough food for everyone:

What do you put on it?

You will multiply it with your labor.(Field.)

IV . Job By topic lesson

A. Fet “Mom! Look out the window..."

Today we will get acquainted with a new poem written by a wonderful Russian poetXIXcentury Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet.

( The teacher shows his portrait. Reading a poem by the teacher.)

- In whose name is the poem written?(The poem is written on behalf of the child.)

- What did he see from the window? What surprised him?(The child saw that the whole yard was white and clean. Although yesterday there was dirt there.)

- What is he happy about?(He is pleased that there is frost on the branches - it is not prickly, it is light blue.)

- What else fascinates him?(It also seems to him that someone decorated the bushes with fresh, white, plump cotton wool. And this makes the baby happy.)

- Do you understand all the words?(No, the word “toky” is not clear.)

- Find the meaning of this word.Generous - generous (not stingy).

- Read the exclamatory sentences. (Children find and read.)

- What feelings of the child do they help convey?(Feelings of admiration, joy, delight.)

- Read the interrogative sentence. With what intonation will you read it?(Expressing a feeling of uncertainty. The child does not know whether his mother will let him go for a walk.)

- With what intonation does the child speak to his mother? How are we going to read this poem?(The child speaks quickly to his mother, he wants to quickly tell what he sees. The intonation is joyful, enthusiastic.)

- Guys, how do you understand the expression “I removed all the bushes”?(The word “removed” is given here in the meaning of “decorated, gave an elegant look.”)

V . Physical education minute

Let's join hands together!

Hands up, hands down!

Hands quickly into a fist,

They put it on the side.

They swayed left and right,

Back and forth, back and forth.

Come on, who's lagging behind?

VI . Continuation work By topic lesson

1. Independent reading of a poem

- Consider whether pauses always coincide with the end of a line.(There are no pauses between lines 2-3, 7-8, 11-12, 14-15.)

- Where should the pauses be made in the middle of the line?(In 1, 16th there are long pauses - this is the end of the sentence. In 4, 5, 7, 11th there are short pauses, as there is an intonation of enumeration.)

2. Discussion of the concept of "rhyme"

- What is rhyme?(Rhyme - consonance of the ends of poetic lines.)

- Find the rhyme in the poem.(Window - cat; nose - freezing; blanket - turned white; blue frost; brownish - cotton wool; you are bushes; dispute - uphill; run - walk; If you don’t refuse, you’ll say it.)

3. Expressive reading of a poem

- Well done! Now get ready to read the poem expressively, imagining that you are addressing your mother, telling her about what you saw. (Reading by students.)

4. A. Fet “The rye is ripening over the hot fields...”

( Children read the poem independently.)

- What did Fet depict in his poem?(The poet depicted a grain field.)

- How the words help to imagine the picture depicted by the poet:hot; capricious - capricious, with whims, with quirks;gold; boundless - so wide, stretching over vast space, limitless;fire-breathing - breathes fire?(A hot summer day is shown. Niva is also hot. Rye is yellow, so the poet calls it golden. These words help us feel the heat of this day.)

- Find the meaning of the wordadjacent. (Adjacent - closes.)

- Read the poem expressively. What intonation will you choose?

( Expressive reading for children.)

5. Teacher's story about the author

Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet (1820-1892). “This is not just a poet, but rather a poet-musician,” P.I. wrote about him. Chaikovsky. Really,Fet’s poems have an amazing musicality; it’s not for nothing that many wonderful romances were written based on his words, for example the romance “At dawn, don’t wake her up.” The landscape lyrics of Fet, who loved nature to the point of self-forgetfulness, knew it very well and felt it subtly, are poetic and musical.

Wonderful picture

How dear you are to me:

White plain,

Full moon.

The light of the high heavens,

And shining snow

And distant sleighs

Lonely running.

A.A. Fet is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable Russian landscape poets. His poetry excites the soul, awakens the imagination, evokes deep thoughts in us, and makes us feel the beauty of the earth and our native word.

VII . Reflection

VIII . Summing up results lesson

- What is rhyme? Give examples.

- As reported by A.A. Fet mood of the lyrical hero?

Homemade exercise

Learn by heart one of A. Fet’s poems. Draw an illustration for it.

How poor our language is!

How poor is our language! “I want to but I can’t.”
This cannot be conveyed to either friend or enemy,
What rages in the chest like a transparent wave.
In vain is the eternal languor of hearts,
And the venerable sage bows his head
Before this fatal lie.

Only you, poet, have a winged sound
Grabs on the fly and fastens suddenly
And the dark delirium of the soul, and the unclear smell of herbs;
So, for the boundless, leaving the meager valley,
An eagle flies beyond the clouds of Jupiter,
Carrying an instant sheaf of lightning in faithful paws.

June 11, 1887

Oh, don’t trust the noisy...

Oh, don't trust the noisy
To the brilliance of the unreasonable crowd, -
You are his crazy world
Give it up and don’t worry about him.
At least cling to the transitory,
With trembling bliss alluring, -
Only one real one
They only have one thing to cherish.

Between 1874 and 1886

A whole world of beauty...

A whole world of beauty
From big to small,
And you search in vain
Find its beginning.

What is a day or an age?
Before what is infinite?
Although man is not eternal,
What is eternal is human.

Between 1874 and 1886

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.

June 9, 1886

I won't tell you anything...

I won't tell you anything
And I won’t worry you at all,
And about what? I silently repeat
I don’t dare hint at anything.

Night flowers sleep all day long,
But as soon as the sun sets behind the grove,
The leaves are quietly opening,
And I hear my heart bloom.

And into the sore, tired chest
The moisture of the night blows... I'm trembling,
I won't alarm you at all
I won't tell you anything.

September 2, 1885

Learn from them - from the oak, from the birch...

Learn from them - from the oak, from the birch.
It's winter all around. Cruel time!
Tears froze on them in vain,
And the bark cracked, shrinking.

The blizzard is getting angrier and every minute
Angrily tears up the last sheets,
And a fierce cold grabs your heart;
They stand, silent; shut up too!

But trust in spring. A genius will rush past her,
Breathing warmth and life again.
For clear days, for new revelations
The grieving soul will get over it.

December 31, 1883

This morning, this joy...

This morning, this joy,
This power of both day and light,
This blue vault
This cry and strings,
These flocks, these birds,
This talk of the waters,

These willows and birches,
These drops are these tears,
This fluff is not a leaf,
These mountains, these valleys,
These midges, these bees,
This noise and whistle,

These dawns without eclipse,
This sigh of the night village,
This night without sleep
This darkness and heat of the bed,
This fraction and these trills,
This is all spring.

May night

Lagging clouds fly over us
The last crowd.
Their transparent segment softly melts
At the crescent moon.

A mysterious power reigns in spring
With stars on the forehead. -
You, tender! You promised me happiness
On a vain land.

Where is the happiness? Not here, in a wretched environment,
And there it is, like smoke.
Follow him! follow him! by air -
And we'll fly away into eternity!

Again invisible efforts...

Again invisible efforts
Again invisible wings
They bring warmth to the north;
Brighter, brighter day after day,
The sun is already black circles
The trees in the forest were surrounded.

The dawn shines through with a shade of scarlet,
Covered with an unprecedented shine
Snow-covered slope;
The forests are still dormant,
But the more audible in every note
Feathered joy and enthusiasm.

Streams, murmuring and meandering
And calling out to each other,
They rush to the echoing valley,
And the raging waters
Under white marble vaults
They fly with a cheerful roar.

And there in the open fields
The river spreads out like a sea,
The steel mirror is brighter,
And the river in the middle of it
He releases an ice floe behind the ice floe,
It's like a flock of swans.

What a night!

What a night! How clean the air is
Like a silver leaf slumbering,
Like the shadow of the coastal willows,
How serenely the bay sleeps,
How a wave will not breathe anywhere,
How the chest is filled with silence!

Midnight light, you are the same day:
Whiter is only the shine, blacker is the shadow,
Only the smell of juicy herbs is subtler,
Only the mind is brighter, the disposition is more peaceful,
Yes, instead of passion he wants breasts
Breathe this air.

By the fireplace

The coals are dimming. In the twilight
A transparent light curls.
So it splashes on the crimson poppy
The wing of an azure moth.

A string of motley visions
Attracts, tired, flattering look,
And unsolved faces
They look from gray ashes.

Gets up affectionately and amicably
Former happiness and sadness
And the soul lies that it doesn’t need
All that is deeply regrettable.

The rye is ripening over the hot fields...

The rye is ripening over the hot fields,
And from the field to the field
The whimsical wind blows
Golden shimmers.

The moon looks timidly into the eyes,
I'm amazed that the day hasn't passed,
But wide into the area of ​​the night
The day spread its arms.

Above the boundless harvest of bread
Between sunset and east
Just for a moment the sky closes
Fire-breathing eye.

Late 50s

Evening

Sounded over the clear river,
It rang in a darkened meadow,
Rolled over the silent grove,
It lit up on the other side.

Far away, in the twilight, with bows
The river runs away to the west.
Having burned with golden borders,
The clouds scattered like smoke.

On the hill it is either damp or hot,
The sighs of the day are in the breath of the night,
But the lightning is already glowing brightly
Blue and green fire.

Pines

Among virgin maples and weeping birches
I cannot see these arrogant pines;
They confuse a swarm of living and sweet dreams,
And I can’t stand their sober appearance.

In the circle of resurrected neighbors, only one
They don't know trembling, they don't whisper, they don't sigh
And, unchanged, to the jubilant spring
Reminds me of the time of winter.

When the forest drops its last dry leaf
And, falling silent, he will wait for spring and rebirth, -
They will remain cold beauty
Scare other generations.

The swallows have disappeared...

The swallows have disappeared
And yesterday dawned
All the rooks were flying
Yes, how the network flashed
Over there over that mountain.

Everyone sleeps in the evening,
It's dark outside.
The dry leaf falls
At night the wind gets angry
Yes, he knocks on the window.

It would be better if there was snow and a blizzard
Glad to meet you with breasts!
As if in fright
Shouting out to the south
The cranes are flying.

You will go out - involuntarily
It’s hard to even cry!
Look across the field
Tumbleweed
Bounces like a ball.

How fresh it is here under the thick linden tree...

How fresh it is here under the thick linden tree -
The midday heat did not penetrate here,
And thousands hanging above me
Fragrant fans sway.

And there, in the distance, the burning air sparkles,
Hesitating, as if he was dozing.
So sharply dry, soporific and crackling
The restless sound of grasshoppers.

Behind the darkness of the branches the vaults of the sky turn blue,
Lightly shrouded in haze,
And, like the dreams of a dying nature,
Wavy clouds pass.

Wait for a clear day tomorrow...

Wait for a clear day tomorrow.
Swifts flash and ring.
Purple streak of fire
Transparent illuminated sunset.

Ships are dozing in the bay, -
The pennants barely flutter.
The heavens have gone far away -
And the distance of the sea went to them.

The shadow approaches so timidly,
So secretly the light goes away,
What won't you say: the day has passed,
Don't say: night has come.

Bees

I will disappear from melancholy and laziness,
Lonely life is not nice
My heart aches, my knees weaken,
In every carnation of fragrant lilac,
A bee crawls in singing.

Let me at least go out into an open field
Or I'll get completely lost in the forest...
With every step it doesn't get easier in freedom,
The heart is burning more and more,
It’s like I carry coal in my chest.

No, wait! With my longing
I'll part here. The bird cherry is sleeping.
Oh, those bees are under her again!
And I just can’t understand
Is it ringing in the flowers or in my ears?

Piece of marble

My gaze wanders in vain, measuring your begun marble,
In vain an inquisitive thought wants to solve the riddle:
What does the bark of a roughly chopped mass wear?
Is the clear brow of Titus, or the changeable face of Faun,
The serpent of the reconciliator is a rod, wings and a fleet-footed figure,
Or the bashfulness of virgins with a thin finger on their lips?

Afanasy Fet

The rye is ripening in the hot cornfield...

Title: Buy the book "The rye is ripening over the hot fields...": feed_id: 5296 pattern_id: 2266 book_author: Fet Afanasy book_name: The rye is ripening over the hot fields...

How poor our language is!

How poor is our language! “I want to but I can’t.”

This cannot be conveyed to either friend or enemy,

What rages in the chest like a transparent wave.

In vain is the eternal languor of hearts,

And the venerable sage bows his head

Before this fatal lie.

Only you, poet, have a winged sound

Grabs on the fly and fastens suddenly

And the dark delirium of the soul, and the unclear smell of herbs;

So, for the boundless, leaving the meager valley,

An eagle flies beyond the clouds of Jupiter,

Carrying an instant sheaf of lightning in faithful paws.

June 11, 1887

Oh, don’t trust the noisy...

Oh, don't trust the noisy

To the brilliance of the unreasonable crowd, -

You are his crazy world

Give it up and don’t worry about him.

At least cling to the transitory,

With trembling bliss alluring, -

Only one real one

They only have one thing to cherish.

Between 1874 and 1886

A whole world of beauty...

A whole world of beauty

From big to small,

And you search in vain

Find its beginning.

What is a day or an age?

Before what is infinite?

Although man is not eternal,

What is eternal is human.

Between 1874 and 1886

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.

June 9, 1886

I won't tell you anything...

I won't tell you anything

And I won’t worry you at all,

And about what I silently repeat,

I don’t dare hint at anything.

Night flowers sleep all day long,

But as soon as the sun sets behind the grove,

The leaves are quietly opening,

And I hear my heart bloom.

And into the sore, tired chest

The moisture of the night blows... I'm trembling,

I won't alarm you at all

I won't tell you anything.

September 2, 1885

Learn from them - from the oak, from the birch...

Learn from them - from the oak, from the birch.

It's winter all around. Cruel time!

Tears froze on them in vain,

And the bark cracked, shrinking.

The blizzard is getting angrier and every minute

Angrily tears up the last sheets,

And a fierce cold grabs your heart;

They stand, silent; shut up too!

But trust in spring. A genius will rush past her,

Breathing warmth and life again.

For clear days, for new revelations

The grieving soul will get over it.

December 31, 1883

This morning, this joy...

This morning, this joy,

This power of both day and light,

This blue vault

This cry and strings,

These flocks, these birds,

This talk of the waters,

These willows and birches,

These drops are these tears,

This fluff is not a leaf,

These mountains, these valleys,

These midges, these bees,

This noise and whistle,

These dawns without eclipse,

This sigh of the night village,

This night without sleep

This darkness and heat of the bed,

This fraction and these trills,

This is all spring.

1881(?)

May night

Lagging clouds fly over us

The last crowd.

Their transparent segment softly melts

At the crescent moon.

A mysterious power reigns in spring

With stars on the forehead. -

You, tender! You promised me happiness

On a vain land.

Where is the happiness? Not here, in a wretched environment,

And there it is, like smoke.

Follow him! follow him! by air -

And we'll fly away into eternity!

1870

Again invisible efforts...

Again invisible efforts

Again invisible wings

They bring warmth to the north;

Brighter, brighter day after day,

The sun is already black circles

The trees in the forest were surrounded.

The dawn shines through with a shade of scarlet,

Covered with an unprecedented shine

Snow-covered slope;

The forests are still dormant,

But the more audible in every note

Feathered joy and enthusiasm.

Streams, murmuring and meandering

And calling out to each other,

They rush to the echoing valley,

And the raging waters

Under white marble vaults

They fly with a cheerful roar.

And there in the open fields

The river spreads out like a sea,

The steel mirror is brighter,

And the river in the middle of it

He releases an ice floe behind the ice floe,

It's like a flock of swans.

1859

What a night!

What a night! How clean the air is

Like a silver leaf slumbering,

Like the shadow of the coastal willows,

How serenely the bay sleeps,

How a wave will not breathe anywhere,

How the chest is filled with silence!

Midnight light, you are the same day:

Whiter is only the shine, blacker is the shadow,

Only the smell of juicy herbs is subtler,

Only the mind is brighter, the disposition is more peaceful,

Yes, instead of passion he wants breasts

Breathe this air.

1857(?)

By the fireplace

The coals are dimming. In the twilight

A transparent light curls.

So it splashes on the crimson poppy

The wing of an azure moth.

A string of motley visions

Attracts, tired, flattering look,

And unsolved faces

They look from gray ashes.

Gets up affectionately and amicably

Former happiness and sadness

And the soul lies that it doesn’t need

All that is deeply regrettable.

1856

The rye is ripening over the hot fields...

The rye is ripening over the hot fields,

And from the field to the field

The whimsical wind blows

Golden shimmers.

The moon looks timidly into the eyes,

I'm amazed that the day hasn't passed,

But wide into the area of ​​the night

The day spread its arms.

Above the boundless harvest of bread

Between sunset and east

Just for a moment the sky closes

Fire-breathing eye.

Late 50s

Sounded over the clear river,

It rang in a darkened meadow,

Rolled over the silent grove,

It lit up on the other side.

Far away, in the twilight, with bows

The river runs away to the west.

Having burned with golden borders,

The clouds scattered like smoke.

On the hill it is either damp or hot,

The sighs of the day are in the breath of the night,

But the lightning is already glowing brightly

Blue and green fire.

1855

Among virgin maples and weeping birches

I cannot see these arrogant pines;

They confuse a swarm of living and sweet dreams,

And I can’t stand their sober appearance.

In the circle of resurrected neighbors, only one

They don't know trembling, they don't whisper, they don't sigh

And, unchanged, to the jubilant spring

Reminds me of the time of winter.

When the forest drops its last dry leaf

And, falling silent, he will wait for spring and rebirth, -

They will remain cold beauty

Scare other generations.

1854

The swallows have disappeared...

The swallows have disappeared

And yesterday dawned

All the rooks were flying

Yes, how the network flashed

Over there over that mountain.

Everyone sleeps in the evening,

It's dark outside.

The dry leaf falls

At night the wind gets angry

Yes, he knocks on the window.

It would be better if there was snow and a blizzard

Glad to meet you with breasts!

As if in fright

Shouting out to the south

The cranes are flying.

You will go out - involuntarily

It’s hard to even cry!

Look across the field

Tumbleweed

Bounces like a ball.

1854

How fresh it is here under the thick linden tree...

How fresh it is here under the thick linden tree -

The midday heat did not penetrate here,

And thousands hanging above me

Fragrant fans sway.

And there, in the distance, the burning air sparkles,

Hesitating, as if he was dozing.

So sharply dry, soporific and crackling

The restless sound of grasshoppers.

Behind the darkness of the branches the vaults of the sky turn blue,

Lightly shrouded in haze,

And, like the dreams of a dying nature,

Wavy clouds pass.

1854

Wait for a clear day tomorrow...

Wait for a clear day tomorrow.

Swifts flash and ring.

Purple streak of fire

Transparent illuminated sunset.

Ships are dozing in the bay, -

The pennants barely flutter.

The heavens have gone far away -

And the distance of the sea went to them.

The shadow approaches so timidly,

So secretly the light goes away,

What won't you say: the day has passed,

Don't say: night has come.

1854

I will disappear from melancholy and laziness,

Lonely life is not nice

My heart aches, my knees weaken,

In every carnation of fragrant lilac,

A bee crawls in singing.

Let me at least go out into an open field

Or I'll get completely lost in the forest...

With every step it doesn't get easier in freedom,

The heart is burning more and more,

It’s like I carry coal in my chest.

No, wait! With my longing

I'll part here. The bird cherry is sleeping.

Oh, those bees are under her again!

And I just can’t understand

Is it ringing in the flowers or in my ears?

Piece of marble

My gaze wanders in vain, measuring your begun marble,

In vain an inquisitive thought wants to solve the riddle:

What does the bark of a roughly chopped mass wear?

Is the clear brow of Titus, or the changeable face of Faun,

The serpent of the reconciliator is a rod, wings and a fleet-footed figure,

Or the bashfulness of virgins with a thin finger on their lips?

1847