Poems by Lesya Ukrainka for children

Lesya Ukrainka is one of the most prominent Ukrainian poets, who wrote not only for adults, but also for children. Her poems are full of tenderness, love for nature, wisdom and deep meaning. They help children develop their imagination, teach kindness, perseverance and love for their native land.

Ukrainian Women's Day, also known as Ukrainian Woman's Day, is celebrated on February 25, commemorating the birthday of prominent writer and public figure Lesya Ukrainka. This holiday symbolizes respect for her creative legacy and significant contribution to the development of Ukrainian culture and society.

Why should children read Lesya Ukrainka's poems?

Popular children's poems by Lesya Ukrainka

On a green hill...

On a green hillock,
In the cherry orchard,
The hut nestled,
Like a little child
The poem turned out to look like,
Will it be possible to have her?
And to the white house,
Like a mother to her child,
The sun came out, it shone
And the hut was filled with joy.

Cherries

Sweet cherries are sparkling
In the green leaves,
Cherries are eye-catching.
For small children.
Little girl and little boy
They are jumping under the tree,
Little hands are reaching out
But they almost cry:
I would be happy to eat a cherry,
And climb high,
Oh, I would be happy to tear it apart,
But you can't get it!
"Oh, cherries, cherries,
Red, ripe,
Why are you so high?
"Grew on a branch!"
"Oh, we are so high
They grew on a branch,—
If they had grown short,
"Would they have matured?"

Song of spring water

From the mountains to the valley
I run, I jump, I rush!
I'm knocking down towns,
I tear down all the fences,
all the ditches, all the dams,
what people have done,
because spring water,
How young is the will!

Song

Are there any better flowers?
But over spring?
Are there better years in life?
But over the youth?
Don't wither, lush flowers,
Bloom at least until summer!
Wait, summer, fate will come,
Don't run away from the world!
Lush flowers twice a year
But they do not prosper;
Summer is the best in life.
They don't happen twice.

The sun is already setting in the sea.

The sun is already setting in the sea;
It's getting dark in the quiet sea;
Clear, deep water,
Like velvet, turning green.
On the green waves tremble
Red sparks are shiny
And they flash with bright fire,
Like lightning from a dark cloud.
And where did your ship sail?
The road there is long and wide.
White as marble, as snow,
And barely noticeable to the eye.
The foamy edge turns pink;
Sometimes the spark will shine, then it will go out...
Here is the last ray! Farewell,
The cheerful sun is bright!

The last flowers

Oh, the red roses have opened,
like burning wounds, in autumn,
So pitifully trembling and burning –
Do they seek happiness or death?
Those flowers won't fall quietly,
No new life will come to them,
no, the frost will hit before sunrise
and the living will strike.
And the red roses will turn black,
as if blood had boiled in the wounds...
Oh, let them at least get drunk on the sun,
before the frost has gathered them!

I stood and listened to spring

I stood and listened to spring,
Spring told me a lot,
She sang a ringing, loud song
Then she whispered secretly and quietly again.

She sang to me about love,
About youth, joy, hopes,
She sang it to me again.
Something that my dreams have been singing about for a long time.

You are small,
You are light,
Lights in the handles
clear,
You are like little birds.
quiet, —
You go into the bushes,
The forest ranger won't hear.
And how will it end?
The light shines, —
It was and disappeared.

Lullaby

The moon is bright.
The ray is quiet.
He threw it at us.
Sleep, little one,
It's late.

You will sleep, Lyuba.
Until you know,
What is sadness?
You will accept it quickly.
Disaster and regret.

A difficult hour!
Bitter moment!
The evil does not sleep...
Wow, baby!
To live is to shed tears.

It's a shame to bow down,
Obey fate!
Your time will come.
To fight with fate,-
Sleep will disappear...

The moon is bright.
The ray is quiet.
He threw it at us...
Sleep, little one,
While there is time!

Source: freepik

Who told you that I am weak?

Who told you that I am weak,
that I obey fate?
Is my hand shaking?
Is the song and thought weak?
You heard, once I started
sorrow and lamentation, –
there was a spring storm,
and not the slush of autumn.
And in the fall... What sadness,
whether someone is blooming or withering,
then the weeping willow
gold-crimson will become.
When is the harsh winter?
will cover colors and flowers –
She herself is at their grave.
scatter gems.