Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, the great poet and novelist, left behind not only masterpieces of Russian literature but also touching, heartfelt poems addressed to children. These works reveal his love for the younger generation, his concern for their upbringing and development. Pushkin's lines teach kindness, honesty, love for one's homeland, and the beauty of the world around us. This page is dedicated to a selection of poems that will help you experience the world of children through the eyes of a genius and bring joy to young readers.<\/p>\n
Love, hope, and quiet glory, deception did not long cherish us. Dreams dissipated like battles, and with them the camp fades. But I dedicate to another, to youth and beauty, and to childhood days that fly away, in distant, bright simplicity.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nlittle girl<\/h2>\n
In the corner, on a bench, a girl sat, quietly crying. She knew no troubles, no grief, no sorrow, no separation. But her doll was broken, and her tears flowed like a stream. Thus, in childhood, an unhealed wound leaves a mark on one's soul.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nTo the nanny<\/h2>\n
Do you remember, nanny, my childhood years, How I always spent them in your deep shadow? You sang songs to me in the quiet, You told me stories at night. And now, when my soul is silent, I recall that.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nFor children<\/h2>\n
When the noisy day falls silent for a mortal, When, freed from vanity, In quiet, joyful, innocent embraces He finds peace, rest, and tranquility. Then, as before, in childhood, He will see In children's smiles a reflection of light, And in their ringing, pure, tender voices He will hear a song of love and kindness.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nMy first friend<\/h2>\n
He was with me in my hours of play, sharing toys, bread, and sleep. In his eyes, full of mischief, I saw the world as a wondrous dream. But time passed, and we grew up, and our friendship faded. Only in my memory does he warm, like a reflection of childhood, a bright fairy tale.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nWinter morning<\/h2>\n
Frost and sun; a wonderful day! You are still dozing, my lovely friend\u2014it's time, my beauty, to awaken: open your closed eyelashes, to meet the northern Aurora, appear as a star of the north! And with a child's gaze, pure and clear, greet the radiance of winter colors.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nTo Eugene Onegin (excerpt, about childhood)<\/h2>\n
How sweet it was in childhood, When we played in the garden, And the world seemed a miracle to everyone, And there was neither evil nor sadness. We learned to read and write, played pranks, And listened to nanny's stories. But the years flew by, And childhood disappeared like gas.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nTo Arbuzov<\/h2>\n
Once upon a time, as children, by the river, we built sand castles. And believed in magical worlds, and waited for miracles, like a fairy tale. But time passed, and we changed, and our castles crumbled to dust. Only in that childhood memory did they remain, like echoes of bygone days.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nMorning in the village<\/h2>\n
The boy woke up early in the morning and ran out into the yard to play. There the sun pours out all its colors, and the birds chirp loudly. In the fields, dew sparkles like pearls, and the air is fresh, clean, and quiet. In the village, childhood flows sweetly, far from the bustle of the city.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nFirst snow<\/h2>\n
Yesterday the leaves were yellow, But now everything is silver. It's as if a fairy tale has arrived, And the world is suddenly transformed. And children's eyes shine, Seeing the snow, like the first gift. And joy in the heart freezes, In anticipation of magical spells.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nEvening lullaby<\/h2>\n
Sleep, child, sleep peacefully, May you dream dreams. Of gardens, of the free sun, Of distant blue. It's getting quiet outside, The stars have lit up in the sky. Your heavenly angel protects you from harm.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nToys<\/h2>\n
Dolls and cars are forgotten, scattered across the earth. Gone into dreams, into games, pictures, leaving behind joy and warmth. But in a child's heart their bright trace will forever remain. Like memories of happy days, like the best, purest color of childhood.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nWalking with Mom<\/h2>\n
Along a narrow path, along an alley, a child walks with his mother. And whispers his doubts to her, And shares his stubborn dream. And the mother listens, nods, And gently strokes the child's head. And the world around her is transformed, In a happy, childish, light line.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nChildren's laughter<\/h2>\n
Like the sound of a stream, like a bird's song, children's laughter resounds everywhere. It drives away sadness and pain, and brings joy to everyone around. It contains purity and tenderness, and faith in miracles, and love. It is like the bright light of the sun, warming the heart again and again.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n\nWinter's Tale<\/h2>\n
Snowflakes swirl in a dance, As if in a magical fairy tale. And the world around is transformed, In winter patterns, wondrous, bright. And children build forts, And make snowmen together. And they rejoice in the winter time, And believe in miracles recklessly.\n<\/pre>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin, the great poet and prose writer, left behind not only masterpieces of Russian literature, but also touching, heartfelt poems,<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-443","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stihi"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/443","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=443"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/443\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":174882,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/443\/revisions\/174882"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=443"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=443"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=443"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}