Children's fairy tales online. Children's fairy tales online Reading fairy tales Snowdrop by H. Andersen

Dear friend, we want to believe that reading the fairy tale “Snowdrop” by Hans Christian Andersen will be interesting and exciting for you. Devotion, friendship and self-sacrifice and other positive feelings overcome all that oppose them: anger, deceit, lies and hypocrisy. Probably due to the inviolability of human qualities over time, all moral teachings, morals and issues remain relevant at all times and eras. Rivers, trees, animals, birds - everything comes to life, is filled with living colors, helps the heroes of the work in gratitude for their kindness and affection. Household problems - incredible good way, with the help of simple, ordinary examples, convey to the reader the most valuable centuries-old experience. All heroes were “honed” by the experience of the people, who for centuries created, strengthened and transformed them, paying great and deep importance to children’s education. An important role for children’s perception is played by visual images, of which this work abounds, quite successfully. You can read the fairy tale “Snowdrop” by Hans Christian Andersen for free online countless times without losing your love and desire for this creation.

Winter; Cold; the wind is biting, but it’s nice and cozy in the ground; There the flower lies in its bulb, covered with earth and snow. But then it rained; the drops penetrated through the snow cover into the ground to the flower bulb and informed it of the white light that was above it. I soon made my way there and Sunbeam, so thin, drilling; he drilled into the snow and earth and tapped lightly on the bulb.

Sign in! - said the flower.

I can not! - answered the beam. - I’m still weak now, and I can’t open the bulbs! But by summer I will gather my strength!

When will summer be? - asked the flower and asked the same thing from each new guest - a ray of sunshine. But it was still a long time before summer; The snow had not yet completely melted, and the puddles were covered with ice every night.

How long does this take! - said the flower. - I just can’t sit still! I want to stretch, stretch out, open up, go free, see summer! What a blissful time!

And the flower stretched out in its thin shell, softened by water, warmed by snow and earth, penetrated by the sun's rays. Soon a green stem with a light green bud, surrounded, like a screen, by narrow, plump leaves, emerged from the ground, under the snow. The snow was still cold, but it was all flooded with the rays of the sun - it was already so loose that it was easy for them to break through it, and they themselves had now become stronger.

Welcome! Welcome! - they sang, and a flower peeked out from under the snow. The sun's rays caressed and kissed the little one, so that its snow-white cup with green veins completely opened. He bowed his head joyfully and modestly.

Dear flower! - the sun's rays sang. - How fresh and gentle you are! You are the first, the only one! You are our beloved child! You herald summer, wonderful summer! Soon all the snow will melt, the cold winds will blow away! We will reign! Everything will turn green! And you will have girlfriends: lilacs and yellow acacia will bloom, and then roses, but you are still the first, so tender and transparent!

What a joy! It seemed that the very air sang and sounded, the sun's rays penetrated the very petals and stem of the flower. And he stood, so tender, fragile and at the same time full of energy, in the magnificent bloom of youthful beauty, so elegant in his white dress, with green ribbons, and glorified summer. But it was still a long time before summer; the clouds covered the sun, cold, harsh winds blew.

You showed up too early! - they said to the flower. - The force is still on our side! Wait, we'll ask you! You should sit and sit in the warmth, and not rush to show off in the sun - the time has not yet come!

The cold was stinging. Days passed after days, and not a single ray of sunshine appeared. It was just right for the delicate flower to freeze. But he was stronger than he suspected; he was strengthened by joyful faith in the promised summer. It was coming soon! No wonder the sun's rays announced it. The flower firmly believed their promise and stood patiently on the white snow in his white outfit, bowing his head under the heavy, thick flakes of snow; Cold winds raged around him.

You will break! - they said. - You will wither, you will freeze! What did you want here? Why did you let yourself be lured out? The sunbeam has deceived you! Serves you right now! Oh, snowdrop!

Snowdrop! - sounded in the cold morning air.

Snowdrop! - the children ran out into the garden rejoicing. - Here one grows, so cute, adorable, the first, the only one!

And these words warmed the flower like the sun's rays. With joy, he did not even feel that he had been ripped off. He found himself in a child's hand, children's lips kissing him. Then they brought him into a warm room, admired him and put him in the water. The flower came to life, came back to life, and thought that summer had suddenly arrived.

The eldest daughter, a lovely young girl - she had already been confirmed - had a friend of her heart; he, too, had been confirmed and was now taking a course in science.

I'll joke with him! He'll think it's already summer! - said the girl, took a delicate flower and put it in a fragrant piece of paper on which poems about snowdrops were written. They began with the word “snowdrop” and ended with the words: “Now, my friend, you will remain a fool all winter!” Yes, that's what was said in the poems she sent to her friend instead of a letter. The flower ended up in the envelope; how dark it was there! He definitely hit the onion again! And so he went on the road, was in a mail bag, was squeezed, crumpled; There was little pleasant here, but that too came to an end.

The letter reached its destination; it was printed out and read. The friend of the heart was so pleased that he kissed the flower and hid it along with the poems in a box. There were many equally expensive letters lying there, but all of them were without flowers; this one was the first, the only one, as the sun’s rays called it, and the flower couldn’t be happier about it!

And he had enough time to rejoice: summer passed, the long winter passed, summer came again, and only then was he taken out again. But this time the young man was not cheerful and began to rummage through letters and papers so angrily that the sheet of poetry flew to the floor and a snowdrop fell out of it. True, it dried out and flattened, but because of this it was not necessary to throw it on the floor! Still, lying on the floor was better than burning in the stove, where all the letters and poems ended up. What happened? Something that happens often. Snowdrop deceived the young man - it was a joke; the girl deceived him - it was no joke. She chose a new friend of her heart this summer.

In the morning the sun illuminated a small flattened snowdrop that looked as if it had been painted on the floor. The girl sweeping the floor picked it up and put it in one of the books on the table; she thought that she had accidentally dropped a flower from there while putting the table in order. And so the flower again found itself between the poems, but this time printed, and they are more important than written ones, at least they are more expensive.

Years passed; the book still stood on the shelf; but then they took it, opened it and began to read it. The book was good: poems and songs by the Danish poet Ambrose Stub; they are worth getting to know. The man reading the book turned the page.

Snowdrop! No wonder they put him here. Poor Ambrose Stub! You, too, were a snowdrop among your fellows! You came too early, ahead of your time, and you were met by violent winds and bad weather. You had to wander from house to house, from one Fiona landowner to another, playing the role of a flower in a glass of water or embedded in a rhyming letter! Yes, and you were a snowdrop, deceptively ushering in summer, a misunderstanding, a joke, but still you were the first, the only Danish poet breathing youthful freshness. Stay here, snowdrop! You were put here for a reason.

Fairy tale by H. H. Andersen (1862)
The winter wind howled, but the house was warm and cozy. A flower was hiding in this house. He took refuge in his bulb under the ground and snow. Then it rained. The drops broke through the snow cover and tapped on the flower bulb. They talked about the bright above-ground world, and after them a gentle and persistent ray of sunlight broke through the snow and warmed the onion.

Who's there? Sign in! - said the flower.

I can not! - said the beam. - I can’t open the door. Wait until summer, then I'll gain strength.

When will summer be? - asked the flower and repeated this question every time a new ray of sunlight made its way underground. But it was still far from summer, there was snow everywhere, and every night the water twitched with ice.

I'm so tired of this! - said the flower. - My whole body aches! I must stretch, straighten up and go free, I must bow to the summer and wish it good morning. Oh, what happiness it will be!

The flower stood up, stretched and lay down on its shell, softened by the warm earth, melt water and sun rays. He rushed upward, carrying a pale green bud on a green stem, carefully covered with narrow dense leaves, and found himself in the snow. The snow was cold, but it was all translucent, and it was much easier to break through it, and the sun’s rays were now very close, as close as never before. They rang and sang:

Welcome! Welcome! And the flower rose from the snow towards the bright sunny world. The rays stroked and kissed him so tenderly that he completely opened up. He stood, white as snow, bowing his head shyly and joyfully.

Beautiful flower! - the sun's rays sang. - How tender and fresh you are! You're the first! You're the one! You bring the news of summer, of warm summer! All the snow will melt, the cold winds will fly away! Our time will come! ...

He was so happy, as if the whole air was singing, as if rays of light pierced its leaves, and the flower stood tender and fragile and at the same time strong in its youthful beauty.

But summer was still far away, clouds covered the sun, and a sharp cold wind blew. ... And the cold came again. Gloomy days dragged on without a single ray of sunshine. The weather was such that it was time for the small, weak flower to freeze through and through. But he himself did not know how strong he was: his cheerfulness and the belief that summer would come anyway added strength to him. He remained faithful to him, and the sun's rays confirmed that it was worth the wait. And so he stood, full of love, faith and hope, in a white outfit on the white snow, when the flakes fell thickly and the icy winds blew.

Winter; Cold; the wind is biting, but it’s nice and cozy in the ground; There the flower lies in its bulb, covered with earth and snow. But then it rained; the drops penetrated through the snow cover into the ground to the flower bulb and informed it of the white light that was above it. Soon a ray of sunlight, so thin and drilling, made its way there; he drilled into the snow and earth and tapped lightly on the bulb.

Sign in! - said the flower.

I can not! - answered the beam. - I’m still weak now, and I can’t open the bulbs! But by summer I will gather my strength!

When will summer be? - asked the flower and asked the same thing from each new guest - a ray of sunshine. But it was still a long time before summer; The snow had not yet completely melted, and the puddles were covered with ice every night.

How long does this take! - said the flower. - I just can’t sit still! I want to stretch, stretch out, open up, go free, see summer! What a blissful time!

And the flower stretched out in its thin shell, softened by water, warmed by snow and earth, penetrated by the sun's rays. Soon a green stem with a light green bud, surrounded, like a screen, by narrow, plump leaves, emerged from the ground, under the snow. The snow was still cold, but it was all flooded with the rays of the sun - it was already so loose that it was easy for them to break through it, and they themselves had now become stronger.

Welcome! Welcome! - they sang, and a flower peeked out from under the snow. The sun's rays caressed and kissed the little one, so that its snow-white cup with green veins completely opened. He bowed his head joyfully and modestly.

Dear flower! - the sun's rays sang. - How fresh and gentle you are! You are the first, the only one! You are our beloved child! You herald summer, wonderful summer! Soon all the snow will melt, the cold winds will blow away! We will reign! Everything will turn green! And you will have girlfriends: lilacs and yellow acacia will bloom, and then roses, but you are still the first, so tender and transparent!

What a joy! It seemed that the very air sang and sounded, the sun's rays penetrated the very petals and stem of the flower. And he stood, so tender, fragile and at the same time full of strength, in the magnificent bloom of youthful beauty, so elegant in his white dress, with green ribbons, and glorified summer. But it was still a long time before summer; the clouds covered the sun, cold, harsh winds blew.

You showed up too early! - they said to the flower. - The force is still on our side! Wait, we'll ask you! You should sit and sit in the warmth, and not rush to show off in the sun - the time has not yet come!

The cold was stinging. Days passed after days, and not a single ray of sunshine appeared. It was just right for the delicate flower to freeze. But he was stronger than he suspected; he was strengthened by joyful faith in the promised summer. It was coming soon! No wonder the sun's rays announced it. The flower firmly believed their promise and stood patiently on the white snow in his white outfit, bowing his head under the heavy, thick flakes of snow; Cold winds raged around him.

You will break! - they said. - You will wither, you will freeze! What did you want here? Why did you let yourself be lured out? The sunbeam has deceived you! Serves you right now! Oh, snowdrop!

Snowdrop! - sounded in the cold morning air.

Snowdrop! - the children ran out into the garden rejoicing. - Here one grows, so cute, adorable, the first, the only one!

And these words warmed the flower like the sun's rays. With joy, he did not even feel that he had been ripped off. He found himself in a child's hand, children's lips kissing him. Then they brought him into a warm room, admired him and put him in the water. The flower came to life, came back to life, and thought that summer had suddenly arrived.

The eldest daughter, a lovely young girl - she had already been confirmed - had a friend of her heart; he, too, had been confirmed and was now taking a course in science.

I'll joke with him! He'll think it's already summer! - said the girl, took a delicate flower and put it in a fragrant piece of paper on which poems about snowdrops were written. They began with the word “snowdrop” and ended with the words: “Now, my friend, you will remain a fool all winter!” Yes, that's what was said in the poems she sent to her friend instead of a letter. The flower ended up in the envelope; how dark it was there! He definitely hit the onion again! And so he went on the road, was in a mail bag, was squeezed, crumpled; There was little pleasant here, but that too came to an end.

The letter reached its destination; it was printed out and read. The friend of the heart was so pleased that he kissed the flower and hid it along with the poems in a box. There were many equally expensive letters lying there, but all of them were without flowers; this one was the first, the only one, as the sun’s rays called it, and the flower couldn’t be happier about it!

And he had enough time to rejoice: summer passed, the long winter passed, summer came again, and only then was he taken out again. But this time the young man was not cheerful and began to rummage through letters and papers so angrily that the sheet of poetry flew to the floor and a snowdrop fell out of it. True, it dried out and flattened, but because of this it was not necessary to throw it on the floor! Still, lying on the floor was better than burning in the stove, where all the letters and poems ended up. What happened? Something that happens often. Snowdrop deceived the young man - it was a joke; the girl deceived him - it was no joke. She chose a new friend of her heart this summer.

In the morning the sun illuminated a small flattened snowdrop that looked as if it had been painted on the floor. The girl sweeping the floor picked it up and put it in one of the books on the table; she thought that she had accidentally dropped a flower from there while putting the table in order. And so the flower again found itself between the poems, but this time printed, and they are more important than written ones, at least they are more expensive.

Years passed; the book still stood on the shelf; but then they took it, opened it and began to read it. The book was good: poems and songs by the Danish poet Ambrose Stub; they are worth getting to know. The man reading the book turned the page.

Snowdrop! No wonder they put him here. Poor Ambrose Stub! You, too, were a snowdrop among your fellows! You came too early, ahead of your time, and you were met by violent winds and bad weather. You had to wander from house to house, from one Fiona landowner to another, playing the role of a flower in a glass of water or embedded in a rhyming letter! Yes, and you were a snowdrop, deceptively ushering in summer, a misunderstanding, a joke, but still you were the first, the only Danish poet breathing youthful freshness. Stay here, snowdrop! You were put here for a reason.

And the snowdrop was again put in the book; he was both flattered and delighted to learn that it was not for nothing that he was included in this wonderful collection of songs and that the singer himself was the same snowdrop on whom winter played a joke. Snowdrop understood everything in his own way, just as we understand every thing in our own way.

That's the whole fairy tale about the snowdrop.

Winter; Cold; the wind is biting, but it’s nice and cozy in the ground; There the flower lies in its bulb, covered with earth and snow. But then it rained; the drops penetrated through the snow cover into the ground to the flower bulb and informed it of the white light that was above it. Soon a ray of sunlight, so thin and drilling, made its way there; he drilled into the snow and earth and tapped lightly on the bulb.

Sign in! - said the flower.

I can not! - answered the beam. - I’m still weak now, and I can’t open the bulbs! But by summer I will gather my strength!

When will summer be? - asked the flower and asked the same thing from each new guest - a ray of sunshine. But it was still a long time before summer; The snow had not yet completely melted, and the puddles were covered with ice every night.

How long does this take! - said the flower. - I just can’t sit still! I want to stretch, stretch out, open up, go free, see summer! What a blissful time!

And the flower stretched out in its thin shell, softened by water, warmed by snow and earth, penetrated by the sun's rays. Soon a green stem with a light green bud, surrounded, like a screen, by narrow, plump leaves, emerged from the ground, under the snow. The snow was still cold, but it was all flooded with the rays of the sun - it was already so loose that it was easy for them to break through it, and they themselves had now become stronger.

Welcome! Welcome! - they sang, and a flower peeked out from under the snow. The sun's rays caressed and kissed the little one, so that its snow-white cup with green veins completely opened. He bowed his head joyfully and modestly.

Dear flower! - the sun's rays sang. - How fresh and gentle you are! You are the first, the only one! You are our beloved child! You herald summer, wonderful summer! Soon all the snow will melt, the cold winds will blow away! We will reign! Everything will turn green! And you will have girlfriends: lilacs and yellow acacia will bloom, and then roses, but you are still the first, so tender and transparent!

What a joy! It seemed that the very air sang and sounded, the sun's rays penetrated the very petals and stem of the flower. And he stood, so tender, fragile and at the same time full of strength, in the magnificent bloom of youthful beauty, so elegant in his white dress, with green ribbons, and glorified summer. But it was still a long time before summer; the clouds covered the sun, cold, harsh winds blew.

You showed up too early! - they said to the flower. - The force is still on our side! Wait, we'll ask you! You should sit and sit in the warmth, and not rush to show off in the sun - the time has not yet come!

The cold was stinging. Days passed after days, and not a single ray of sunshine appeared. It was just right for the delicate flower to freeze. But he was stronger than he suspected; he was strengthened by joyful faith in the promised summer. It was coming soon! No wonder the sun's rays announced it. The flower firmly believed their promise and stood patiently on the white snow in his white outfit, bowing his head under the heavy, thick flakes of snow; Cold winds raged around him.

You will break! - they said. - You will wither, you will freeze! What did you want here? Why did you let yourself be lured out? The sunbeam has deceived you! Serves you right now! Oh, snowdrop!

Snowdrop! - sounded in the cold morning air.

Snowdrop! - the children ran out into the garden rejoicing. - Here one grows, so cute, adorable, the first, the only one!

And these words warmed the flower like the sun's rays. With joy, he did not even feel that he had been ripped off. He found himself in a child's hand, children's lips kissing him. Then they brought him into a warm room, admired him and put him in the water. The flower came to life, came back to life, and thought that summer had suddenly arrived.

The eldest daughter, a lovely young girl - she had already been confirmed - had a friend of her heart; he, too, had been confirmed and was now taking a course in science.

I'll joke with him! He'll think it's already summer! - said the girl, took a delicate flower and put it in a fragrant piece of paper on which poems about snowdrops were written. They began with the word “snowdrop” and ended with the words: “Now, my friend, you will remain a fool all winter!” Yes, that's what was said in the poems she sent to her friend instead of a letter. The flower ended up in the envelope; how dark it was there! He definitely hit the onion again! And so he went on the road, was in a mail bag, was squeezed, crumpled; There was little pleasant here, but that too came to an end.

The letter reached its destination; it was printed out and read. The friend of the heart was so pleased that he kissed the flower and hid it along with the poems in a box. There were many equally expensive letters lying there, but all of them were without flowers; this one was the first, the only one, as the sun’s rays called it, and the flower couldn’t be happier about it!

And he had enough time to rejoice: summer passed, the long winter passed, summer came again, and only then was he taken out again. But this time the young man was not cheerful and began to rummage through letters and papers so angrily that the sheet of poetry flew to the floor and a snowdrop fell out of it. True, it dried out and flattened, but because of this it was not necessary to throw it on the floor! Still, lying on the floor was better than burning in the stove, where all the letters and poems ended up. What happened? Something that happens often. Snowdrop deceived the young man - it was a joke; the girl deceived him - it was no joke. She chose a new friend of her heart this summer.

In the morning the sun illuminated a small flattened snowdrop that looked as if it had been painted on the floor. The girl sweeping the floor picked it up and put it in one of the books on the table; she thought that she had accidentally dropped a flower from there while putting the table in order. And so the flower again found itself between the poems, but this time printed, and they are more important than written ones, at least they are more expensive.

Years passed; the book still stood on the shelf; but then they took it, opened it and began to read it. The book was good: poems and songs by the Danish poet Ambrose Stub; they are worth getting to know. The man reading the book turned the page.

Snowdrop! No wonder they put him here. Poor Ambrose Stub! You, too, were a snowdrop among your fellows! You came too early, ahead of your time, and you were met by violent winds and bad weather. You had to wander from house to house, from one Fiona landowner to another, playing the role of a flower in a glass of water or embedded in a rhyming letter! Yes, and you were a snowdrop, deceptively ushering in summer, a misunderstanding, a joke, but still you were the first, the only Danish poet breathing youthful freshness. Stay here, snowdrop! You were put here for a reason.

And the snowdrop was again put in the book; he was both flattered and delighted to learn that it was not for nothing that he was included in this wonderful collection of songs and that the singer himself was the same snowdrop on whom winter played a joke. Snowdrop understood everything in his own way, just as we understand every thing in our own way.

That's the whole fairy tale about the snowdrop.

The winter wind howled, but the house was warm and cozy. A flower was hiding in this house. He took refuge in his bulb under the ground and snow. Then it rained. The drops broke through the snow cover and tapped on the flower bulb. They talked about the bright above-ground world, and after them a gentle and persistent ray of sunlight broke through the snow and warmed the onion.
- Who's there? Sign in! - said the flower.
- I can not! - said the sunbeam. - I can’t open the door. Wait until summer, then I'll gain strength.
- When will summer be? - asked the flower and repeated this question every time a new ray of sunlight made its way underground. But it was still far from summer, there was snow everywhere, and every night the water twitched with ice.
- How tired I am of this! - said the flower. - My whole body aches! I must stretch, straighten up and go free, I must bow to the summer and wish it good morning. Oh, what happiness it will be!
The flower stood up, stretched and lay down on its shell, softened by the warm earth, melt water and sun rays. He rushed upward, carrying a pale green bud on a green stem, carefully covered with narrow dense leaves, and found himself in the snow. The snow was cold, but it was all translucent, and it was much easier to break through it, and the sun’s rays were now very close, as close as never before. They rang and sang:
- Welcome! Welcome! And the flower rose from the snow towards the bright sunny world.
The rays stroked and kissed him so tenderly that he completely opened up. He stood, white as snow, decorated with green stripes, bowing his head shyly and joyfully.
“Beautiful flower!” sang the sun’s rays. - How tender and fresh you are! You're the first! You're the one! You are our beloved! You bring the news of summer, of warm summer, to cities and villages. All the snow will melt, the cold winds will fly away! Our time will come! Everything will turn green. And you will have friends: lilac, broom, and then roses, but you are our first, so tender, so transparent!
He was so happy, as if the whole air was singing, as if rays of light penetrated all its leaves and stem, and the flower stood tender and fragile and at the same time strong in its youthful beauty. He stood in a white and green outfit and praised summer. But summer was still far away, the clouds covered the sun, and a sharp cold wind blew.
“You came too early!” said Bad Weather and Wind. - We'll show you our powerhouse! You will still recognize us! I would sit better at home and did not rush out into the street to show off his outfits. Your time has not yet come!
And the cold came again. Gloomy days dragged on without a single ray of sunshine. The weather was such that it was time for the small, weak flower to freeze through. But he himself did not know how strong he was: his cheerfulness and the belief that summer would come anyway added strength to him. He remained faithful to him, and the sun's rays confirmed that it was worth the wait. And so he stood, full of love, faith and hope, in a white outfit on the white snow and bowed his head as the snow flakes fell thickly and the icy winds blew.
“You will break,” they said. - You'll freeze, you'll dry out! What were you looking for here? Why did you trust a ray of sunshine? He deceived you. Serves you right, madman. Oh you, herald of summer!
- Madman! - repeated the flower when the frosty morning arrived.
- Herald of summer! - the children were delighted and ran out into the garden. - Admire how glorious he is, how beautiful, the very first, the only one!
And from these words the flower felt as good as from the warm rays of the sun.
To rejoice, the flower did not even notice that it had been picked. He lay in a child's hand, and children's lips kissed him, he found himself in warm room, they looked at him kind eyes, they put him in water, so invigorating, so life-giving, that the flower felt as if summer had suddenly come.
The master's daughter, who had recently been confirmed, had a kind apprentice friend who had also recently been confirmed.
“I’ll spin his head!” she said; then, taking delicate flower, put it in a scented piece of paper on which poems were written, poems about a flower. They began with the words: “Snowdrop says: “Summer has come again!” and ended with the same words, and at the bottom there was also this note: “And I’ll tell you that love has come to us!”
The pretty young lady also promised warmth and sun. This was written about in verses, which were then sent along with the flower by mail. It seemed to him that he found himself in the onion again, it became so dark around him. And the snowdrop went on a journey: he traveled in a mail bag, they pressed and pressed on him from all sides, and this did not give him any pleasure. But everything comes to an end someday. The journey is over. The dear friend opened and read the letter, and was so happy that he kissed the flower; then the flower, along with the poems, was placed in a box, where there were many beautiful letters, only they were all without flowers, he was the first and only, as the sun's rays called him, and it was nice to think about it.
And he could think about it enough, he thought all summer and all long winter, and when summer came again, the flower caught his eye young man. This time the young man was not at all happy about him: he grabbed the letter and threw the poems so hard that the flower fell to the floor. True, the flower dried out and flattened, but this did not at all mean that it had to be thrown on the floor. Nevertheless, it was better here than in the fire where poetry and letters burned. What happened? Yes, just something that often happens.
In early spring The snowdrop turned out to be a deceiver, announcing summer, but it was an innocent joke. The girl also turned out to be a deceiver, announcing love, and this was already a cruel joke. And when summer actually came, she chose someone else.
In the morning, a ray of sunlight illuminated a small flattened snowdrop that looked like it was painted on the floor. The maid who was sweeping the floor picked it up and put it in one of the books, since it seemed to her that it had fallen out of there when she swept the dust. And the flower again found itself among the poems, among the printed poems, and they are much nobler than handwritten ones, and at least they cost more.
The years passed. The book was on the shelf; then they took it, opened it and read it. It was good book: poems and songs by the Danish poet Ambrosius Stub, they were worth getting acquainted with. And the man who was reading the book turned the page.
“Ah,” he said, “here is the snowdrop, the very first and most reckless flower!”
It seems to me that they put him here for a reason! Poor Ambrosius Stub! He himself was like a too-early snowdrop, and therefore he suffered the evil winds, snow and cold. He wandered around home island Fyn from one landowner's house to another, like a snowdrop in a glass of water, like a flower in a love letter, and no one took seriously the most reckless, naive, eccentric, and, moreover, the very first, only, forever young Danish poet. Yes, little snowdrop, stay here as a reminder, you were put here for a reason!
And the snowdrop found itself in the book again. It was flattering for him to realize that he was in the beautiful book of songs for a reason and that the young man who sang him was also reckless and also defied winter. The flower understood all this in his own way, just as we tend to understand everything in our own way.
This is the end of the tale of the reckless little snowdrop.