Belarusian autumn poetry reflects the people's deep connection with their native nature and its unique colors. Autumn motifs in Belarusian lyric poetry are imbued with the melancholy of golden leaves falling, the quiet sadness of fading nature, and a philosophical understanding of the changing seasons. Poets sing of the crimson forests of the Belovezhskaya Pushcha, foggy mornings over the Neman and Dnieper, and the wedges of cranes in the sky. These poems convey the unique flavor of the Belarusian land, where autumn arrives softly and thoughtfully, painting the fields and copses in amber and copper tones. Every line resonates with love for the native land and its discreet yet captivating beauty.
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Golden Sun
There is a fog over the Nemans, a maple leaf is falling on the grass. Autumn is a patched zhurytsa, Taking away the summer life. Cranes hum songs that gather on distant paths. My native land, you are so dusty in the pasalot, among the holiest of saints.
Восеньскі дождьж
The rainy autumn rains are crying, the rain is knocking on the ground. The sky is gloomy with dark revelers, the bright rays of the dawn are extinguished. The fields of Zbozhzh and the Sabrals are empty, the roads of Viadze and huts are empty. The birds continue to grow far away, only the winds remain unknown. Ale ў sirtsy bright above, It's clear that the sun is back. The winter has passed, and the earth has warmed, the flowers of the living roof have blossomed.
Belarusian forest fall
Forest fall, forest fall - zalaty karagods, In the alleys of old waters the light of the enchanted passage. Oaks and birch trees are shatse pazaloty, Spring is springy and winter is warm. The leaves are falling in one piece, as in the memory of the day, Shepcha Kazki are the right land of our native antiquity. Fall on the rustling, bytstsam song, Autumn, our autumn - you are dusty in the meeting.
The land of the native spring
In the field of fire, everything is covered, Even the autumn seasons have passed in our region. The white fogs are clear to everyone, And the wind is cold when you walk, don’t worry. The white birch roses have been harvested, leaving leaf after leaf in the garden. The land is dear to the land, you are holy to me, I am bound to you, like a song from above. The cranes are hooting over the spring, the sandy wedge is floating in the sky. Spring, spring of Belarusian May, Don’t forget your leaping spirit.
Асенні вецер
In the spring, we walk on the burning fields, carrying a leaf of joy over the huts. Father's land with patched coats, and cranes in the blue sky. The garden's apples are pale, and the grain's cold is in the eye. Dze, leta, brighter than May? The spring season is on the ferry.
Vosenskaya farbs
The autumn is painted in the patched farms, Pazalotsila forest, fires, meadows. She tanned the earth with her whole tents, and slept and slept early. Red viburnum berries, Like corrals hanging on the galinas. The grass has grown green and we are happy to let the trees grow. The distant blue sky of Tsyagnets, White glooms float across the village. The Belarusian spring does not sleep, It is gaining strength in this century.
Восеньскіранак
Early in the spring there is such a bustle, the fog descends on the fire. The leaves fell with frost, and before the winds flew away. The sun goes out, Patched patches on the grass. Nature breathes hell into sleep, Spring is beautiful in its beauty.
Асеннія дарогоі
The road in the spring is covered with leaves, the rain falls, the noise of the patches is blown. I’m going back to my native land with thoughts, just as if there were young wimps here. The dear tree in the distance, Smoke from the fireplace in the fumes. The father's house is in the hands of the princess, and the state has its own pet. It’s spring, dear Belarusian spring, I’m in love with the bright crane. The land of my Radzima is a gift, I will remember your beauty in our meetings.
Zalaty region
My land is patched - Belarus, Spring has come and caress richly. Dubrovs, Borrs, field, wilderness - Everything is shining with patches to the Cossack farbay. The fog floated over the lakes, The rocks grazed on the waters. Let's live a calm life, In these crazy natural years.
Spring the Enchantress
The enchantress of spring has passed, the sun has covered the earth. The sun is warm and shining, Ale the cold of the world is falling away from the village. Trees and crimson and pasalets, For brides and grooms in Christmas decorations. The cranes sing a song and sleep to the developed Polish people. My land, love, you are jumping, you will blossom in the spring. The soul of a Belarusian is not troubled - The beauty of our native land is celebrated.
Belarusian autumn evokes a special mood, a time of vibrant colors, silence, and reflection. In Belarusian poetry, autumn often symbolizes departure, farewell, but also hope for a new beginning. The collection of poems below reflects the diversity of feelings and images associated with this time of year: from sadness to admiration for nature, from reflections on life to reminiscing about the past.
The spring of the workshop is about to start...
The spring of the workshop is coming with a Zalatoy shchymlіvay pair. The leaf is so instantly jumpy, I’ll take my yashche from the bottom, I’ll remove the skin from the tree for a long time. And the sir’s pack is glad that Farbau-vodbliska completely sprayed.
Sunrise
Pannay be patched, That kalinkaya kvolay, Dumb and zakhanay, At the karaly prybranay. And sing that zhurbotnay song, U vray panesnay. Sprang from the spring and the squeaky crowns. Yes, the year has come! Yes, a lot of people! Let's fight the bastards! Yes to the greedy!
Лісце
Autumn has come over the forests, On the naked red fields, On the red arabesques of the forest of uranium. Look at the patched earth, Pyashchotnaya, sumy, clear, Nechta on her vandruya, The wind is spreading the forest to the thin forest. Medz floats on the lakes, The sum of the sky is flaming... Like a song from the angry gales A leaf, a leaf, A golden leaf, A hundred leaves, A dozen leaves, A leaf.
Golden Sun
The patched spring is walking on the bushes, the crowns of the oak trees have climbed into gold. There is a whole forest of trailing asins, and the black Arabs are burning. Let's burn the maple with barvov, looking at the pine trees for crayfish. He is great, because the harvest of Navat and in winter does not change the forest.
Лістапад
From the lush lindens and birches Between the fallen trees and vines The heights of the vines look And as the spring has passed - And the vines are gone
Spring, patched autumn
Spring, patched autumn There is joy on the ground, There is darkness in the blue sky, There is a rush of the high cranes. Thread the srabnaya pavutsina on the braids of the dormouse. What a great price! What a mess this is! I'm walking through the clearing, like on soft dust. Spring with a branching smile came out to me on a spatkanna. Bright, the good girl wandered through the trees and bushes and scrawled the colors of the zhouta-patches onto the earth.
Лісцё ападе
Lisce apadae. The forest is falling out. It has passed - the fog has fallen on the grass - the ringing, ah, spring, ganarytsya... The slate is ruining the galava, the growing ash is burning.
Sunrise
Autumn was setting in with the sunshine. I paid the zary of the patched thread. From the fog of the flaming atmosphere, the jumping cannon, And from every day, my belt slipped... Not only did I not respect: The guard from the winter of the fashion show got stuck...
Лісце
Spring has passed over the forests, on the naked rusty fields, in the forest of uranium. Look at the patched earth, the patchy, rich, clear land, Nekhta on her vandrue, the wind's growing forest. Strings with thin leaves. Medz floats on the Azeris, Sum floats in the sky with an emglyst. Like a song, it's angry
Sunrise
The pocket is empty. Only haystacks and shpaki kala darogi Tsely zen hell to cry. The buckwheat is harvested. The goal is in the field. Zhyta zvezena daўno. Only they float in the freedom of heaps of gloom, like valakno. Dozhdzhik sow besprastanku; Vetzer svishcha is like a beast. How many luzhyn kalya ganka! And grazi, grazi tsaper! The grass is dried up, everything is wilted. Slots, splash, cold, tsma. Oh, if only the black winter would close the Earth!