Dawn in the village
The description of a village dawn is special. So much beauty can be seen in an ordinary village where you can hear a rooster crowing in the morning. If you are lucky enough to be in the village, wake up as soon as you hear the “live alarm clock” - the rooster. And hurry outside. Now you will see something amazing.
“A lilac lush cloud froze discontentedly in the sky. The darkness is already turning gray, but still persistently clings to the sky. Only the sun does not sleep. Here and there you can see its thin rays. They diligently wake up the dawn. And he, sleepy and dissatisfied, begins to get angry.
Finally, the disheveled dawn, yawning with its full yellow mouth, absorbs the lilac cloud. The sun shakes its fist at the darkness, driving it away. A dark blanket is pulled from the sky, it gradually clears up, becoming blue.
Here are the first bird trills. One of the birds carefully begins to sing its song. Tweet-chirp, such a simple motive. Following her, the song is picked up by other morning birds. There is a tart smell of wet grass in the air. Drops of dew, like a necklace, freeze on the grass. Cows join the morning chorus. A multi-voice mooing can be heard. The housewives are already jumping out of bed, the dawn silence is gradually fading away.”
And the adults already greeted the dawn
The description of the morning dawn is unforgettable. Especially when you realize: he is the last one in your school life.
Graduates describe a special dawn.
“Prom night was coming to an end. The music was still playing, jokes and laughter were heard. But most of the guys became quiet. It seemed like something inevitable was approaching us. On the one hand - joyful, on the other - very sad.
And suddenly the clear voice of one of our girls was heard: “Hurry up, guys! Dawn!"
We rushed out into the street. And they froze at the door. The sky was purple-pink. The sun was quietly emerging from behind the low roofs. Bright yellow, it has not yet blinded the eye. And the air smelled of roses that grew very close by.
The tenderness of the dawn receded little by little. Its lilac-pink hue has already dissipated. A stunning blue appeared through it, comparable only to the color of sea water. The prankish breeze was just coming into its own. He ran over our faces, tried to get entangled in the girls' hairstyles and retreated offended when he couldn't do it. But what is it? Pearls in some girls' eyes? The sun approached, and the wind managed to see these pearls. Girlish tears, farewell to childhood and meeting the first adult dawn. The naughty wind did not dare to tear away these tears.”
Forest
The description of nature at dawn makes hearts flutter. It is enough to read some books to understand this.
And we will try to describe the forest dawn.
"Silence. You can drink it to the bottom, unable to get enough. Under the cover of darkness, she seems special. You can make out the outlines of trees, and their tart smell tickles your nostrils. Somewhere in the distance you can hear a surprised “chivik-chivik.” It was the first bird that woke up and, realizing that it was still dark, thoughtfully asked: should she start celebrating the new day or should she wait?
The grass rustled underfoot. You jump to the side in fear. It doesn't look like wind, most likely it's a forest dweller - a hedgehog. Or some snake can't sleep.
Old trees creak overhead. The darkness begins to dissipate. And a faint, faint ray of sun cuts through it. The sky hangs in torn pieces above the ground. Today it is a pale golden color. And the sun is kind of pale.
The wind began to hum and rustle. The tops of the trees became agitated. Old people don't like the restless, restless breeze. So they grumble, complaining about him. The darkness recedes in fear. She is afraid of sunlight, so she runs to escape it. The yellow dawn is replaced by a pale gray sky. The sun, having driven away the night, cowardly hides behind the horizon. Today it will be cloudy and most likely it will rain.”
Works of famous poets
In the valleys the night is still dark
In the valleys the night is still darkening, the starry valley is still brightening, and the desert wind is blowing far away with its wings, like an eagle.
Among the columns on the mountain slope You stand, chilled, in oblivion, And along the road the horses and the indignant streams grumble.
The road again. Darkness and shaking. But the dawn will appear from the sea, And the horses, harness and carriage will cast a silhouette on the rocks.
S. Marshak
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At the hour of dawn
Above the cautious gorge, between the disturbing sensitive rocks, I listened to the roll call of mountain spirits at the hour of dawn. An indistinct sound rushed from rock to rock like a call. Refreshed, smiling, the world around awakened.
Somewhere a chamois ran by, somewhere a kite flashed by, a heavy stone broke, a roar was heard between the rocks. And light steam nests and swirls, the source of the clouds, Clinging, crawls along the ledges of wet steeps.
And beyond the distant border, - the joy of mountains, valleys, fields, - The victorious face opens, ever fuller and ever brighter, the bright red luminary of a blossoming day, like a flower in gigantic gardens, full of life and fire.
K. Balmont
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Dawn
I stood up and raised my hands three times. The solemn sounds of the Dawn rushed towards me through the air, dressing the heights in crimson. It seemed that the woman was getting up, praying, going to the temple, and with a pink hand throwing grain to the obedient pigeons. They were white somewhere above, whitening, stretched out into a thread, and soon the cloudy roofs became wings gild. Above the gilding of their borrowed money, Standing high on the window, I suddenly saw a huge ball, Floating in red silence.
A. Blok
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Dawn
Now the east has already appeared as a greenish stripe; There is warmth and aromas A breeze rushed from the steppe;
The blue firmaments are turning pale; On the horizon - increasingly black figures, like carved ones, in the steppe of grazing horses...
A. Maikov
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The bright sun rises, Illuminating the hazy valley, Where madness still roams, Where tyranny rejoices. The fogs move unsteadily, How cold and dark! Midnight deceptions How strong and evil they are! The low-creeping malice has taken up arms in a noisy army, To obscure Our sun with an ominous, black cloud. The sun is clear, freedom! Your rays are hot. At the hour of the great sunrise Raise them like swords. Bright heat, like a heavy hammer, Raise and lower, Conquering the darkness and cold of the blocked path. To those who, in prolonged sadness, were exhausted by a proud will, the saints gave Ozar for the weariness of the roads. Those who, in the arms of silent sleep, have forgotten the covenant of love, call those with the burning brilliance of the word to a new life.
F. Sologub
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Meeting the dawn
I thought for a long time at dawn, Looking at the distant hills: Who are we? Blind children of the earth Or are we suicides?
The ducts of the light knee trembled with ripples of small veins. And the white stork guarded the haystack, pacing.
The cloud stretched to the north, The shadow crossed the path. The clover hummed like a swarm of bees, and the rye was preparing for the sickle.
The world woke up without calculation, in its own special way. And the plane's exhaust cracked, Hiding the sound barrier.
Behind him was a train of a bride running away from the groom. The tractor swayed as if in dough, cutting its ploughshares into the loam.
Over the hill, the lark loudly littered the state treasury. The world opened the eyes of a child, choking on novelty.
M. Dudin
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Matins
...And then the picture brightened: The night fireworks of the stars are over, And the clouds in sparkling white are floating mysteriously onto the canvas.
Colors suddenly flare up, Where the bay is covered with reeds. The sunrise, mysteriously, like in a fairy tale, will embrace the crowns of old willows.
And somewhere, in a sleepy distance, a rooster crowed at matins, and the moon shone like a ghostly shadow and... slowly went out...
A. Gubenko
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And I love the crimson dawn
And I love the crimson dawn, And I love the prayerful sunset, And I love the honey primrose, And I love the crimson leaf fall.
And I love not at home, but in the wild, In an open field, on the intoxicating grass, To doze off and lie there until the moon bows to its head.
I can enjoy music without zurna and without chungur, Otherwise there would be no need for me to come to the bank of the stream so often.
I could even manage without shelter, I don’t need anything in life. If only the mountains, their rocks and ridges were near my heart.
I will probably go around them more than once, climbing the ridges. There are so many unfaded colors here, so much pristine purity.
Like a trout, a spring on a mountain slope With crimson specks in the morning. To wash myself, I take cold silver into my warm palms.
And I love the noise at the bottom of the crevasses, the Turs throwing back their horns, the greenery breaking through the rock and the thousand-year-old snow.
And I also adore trees, I treasure them in the trust of children. I enter the forest as if I were at a friend’s door, I wander through the forest as if through a kingdom.
I see the flowers of the mountain valley. The bumblebees took a sip of them just after light. With my heart I worship every handful of the land dear to me since childhood.
I kneel down at the river bend, Like a pilgrim, I stand. And even though I stretch out my hands to the sky, I pray to the beloved land.
R. Gamzatov
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Winter (“Even if it’s foggy at dawn…”)
Even if it’s foggy at dawn, I know that what I want is close... Do you see how the image of a basilisk melts unexpectedly in the distance? Even if everything is alarming and strange... Even if it’s foggy at dawn, I know that what I want is close.
Tender is the pale East Do you know that the night is ending? Do you hear - the sigh of freedom - the sigh of the breeze that has flown away - the news of the coming sunrise?
The cypress sleeps numb. Do you know that the night is ending?
I again involuntarily press the white flowers to my heart.
These golden dreams, these saintly smiles pierce the heart painfully...
I again involuntarily press the white flowers to my heart.
A. Bely
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Wake up at dawn...
Waking up at dawn Because joy is choking, And looking out the cabin window At the green wave, Or on the deck in bad weather, Wrapped in fluffy fur, Listening to the car knocking, And not thinking about anything, But, anticipating a date With the one who became my star, From the salty spray and wind Getting younger every hour.
A. Akhmatova
Description in literature
According to the book description, dawn is the best time of day. It is enough to read the works whose authors describe it with special reverence.
Read Prishvin or Turgenev. See for yourself what has been said. As confirmation, we present here a small quote from the work “Bezhin Meadow”.
A fresh stream ran across my face. I opened my eyes: the morning was beginning. The dawn had not yet blushed anywhere, but it was already turning white in the east. Everything became visible, although dimly visible, all around. The pale gray sky became lighter, colder, and bluer; the stars blinked with faint light and then disappeared; the earth became damp, the leaves began to sweat, in some places living sounds and voices began to be heard, and the liquid, early breeze had already begun to wander and flutter over the earth. My body responded to him with a light, cheerful trembling. I quickly stood up and approached the boys. They all slept like the dead around the smoldering fire; Pavel alone rose halfway and looked at me intently.
Samuel Marshak - How many birches have you seen in the world: Verse
Have you seen many birches in the world? Perhaps only two, - When the frost first covered them, Or in the first spring foliage.
Or maybe you came home in the summer, And your house is filled with sun, And a clean birch trunk glows in the garden outside the open window.
How many sunrises have you seen in the forest? No more than two or three, When, disturbing the dew on the blades of grass, I wandered aimlessly until dawn.
How often have you seen your loved ones? Just only a few times. - When your leisure time was spacious and quiet And the gaze of your eyes was intense.
Winter dawn
Remember Pushkin: “Frost and sun, a wonderful day. You are still dozing, lovely friend...” Indeed, the description of the winter dawn is quite special. How to convey the pearlescent glow of snow in the rays of the rising sun? How to describe the colorful sky?
“The hasty artist spilled paint onto the sky in sloppy spots. Red, burgundy, pink - chaotic and meaningless. Here and there these spots are visible. And the blue sky looks like a Dalmatian dog. It is densely dotted with spots.
And in the center of this splendor the sun begins to awaken. Its rays are not nearly as warm as in summer. But the beauty of the sun does not fade from this. How skillfully it tints the white snow. How tenderly he scatters multi-colored precious stones over it, making them play and shimmer.”
Children's poems about dawn
Pink dawn
As if greetings from the sun, Into my room with the door closed, The most delicate pink dawn poured into the window like watercolors...
A quiet soft light flowed, Filling the house, filling the soul, Left a warm, kind trace, Without breaking the charm.
I inhale the pink dawn, I absorb the colors with my pupils, I remember this color of the pre-dawn fairy tale...
N. Acharaeva
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Zarya
Dawn came out into the heavens, Dawn - a red braid, Swimmed in the lake - The waters became pink... And in the dew drops by the river Lights lit up!.. By the shaggy spruce, the Orioles began to sing... Zorka-dawn, - How much joy!
I. Demyanov
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At dawn
At dawn, at dawn the fisherman has the best bite. At dawn, at dawn The best mushroom for a mushroom picker.
At dawn, at dawn Birds ringing from all sides. At dawn, at dawn The lazy man has the best sleep.
V. Berestov
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Reveille
The bat in the cave sleeps and does not move its ears. Before going to bed, having brushed his feathers, the owl, the flying cat, dozes. The gray wolf goes to bed... And it's time for you to get up!
We were in the forest near old stumps. We caught perches. And in the river we caught a boletus hook. We bring cages from the river, Boletus mushrooms are fighting in them, From the forest - baskets, Full of fish!
There is nothing left for the lazy one. If you slept through the dawn, there is no luck for you!
V. Berestov
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A red dawn lit up in the dark blue sky, a stripe appeared clear in its golden shine. The rays of the sun reflected the light high in the sky. And new ones scattered far away from them in response. Bright golden rays suddenly illuminated the earth. The skies are already blue, spreading all around.
S. Yesenin
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The trace of the night disappears, The light of the sun comes to us, The course of the day is continuous: In the morning we always wait for the sunrise.
V. Talyzin
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Me and the sun
The sun is shining through my window in the morning, which means it’s time for me to go to kindergarten. I quickly wash my face, brush my teeth myself, and I can hear the cheerful noise of birds outside the window. The birds are happy that spring has come, Little grass is visible on the ground. I’m going to the kindergarten with my mommy’s hand, The sun winked at me only, I closed my eyes and heard it say: “Hey, baby, hello!”
O. Chusovitina
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When the starry dance fades, hiding behind pink clouds, an invisible woman will come, holding invisible scales in her hands.
The shadow of the night falls on the left bowl, On the right bowl, barely visible, A new day has barely audibly moved, Slipping from under the folds of the sleeve.
The hand of a strange woman will not tremble. Everything around froze for a moment, the left bowl swayed slightly, and the circle of the sun was reflected in the right.
Nothing can stop the flow of rays. The silent argument on the scales is over. And the Fire of dawn flared up with millions of candles, spreading in the skies.
Yu. Volkova
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The horizon in the east brightened slightly, blushed shyly with scarlet, it was the sun that emerged from the world of shadows and looked proudly from above... The sun looks tenderly from the sky at the earth, gently strokes the grass with its rays, warmed by warmth, everything around speaks of spring, of love, and in poetry !
Z. Sergeeva
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In the morning the sun woke up
In the morning the sun woke up, It stretched sweetly and sweetly. She put on a new dress and flew across the sky.
Played with the clouds, sent out rays in the puddles, Suddenly noticed in the window that Seryozha was sleeping in the crib.
He looked and smiled. The ray touched him, “Well, Seryozhka, wake up! Brush your teeth and wash your face!
I got up a long time ago, open the window quickly! Put on your pants quickly and go for a walk with the boys!”
Our Seryozha smiled, stretched sweetly, sweetly, and looked back at his mother: “See, mom, I woke up!”
A. Vishnevskaya
