Longing for spiritual springs, <br />I dragged myself through desert sands ... <br />An angel with three pairs of wings <br />Arrived to me at cross of lands; <br />With fingers so light and slim <br />He touched my eyes as in a dream: <br />And opened my prophetic eyes <br />Like eyes of eagle in surprise. <br />He touched my ears in movement, single, <br />And they were filled with noise and jingle: <br />I heard a shuddering of heavens, <br />And angels' flight on azure heights <br />And creatures' crawl in long sea nights, <br />And rustle of vines in distant valleys. <br />And he bent down to my chin, <br />And he tore off my tongue of sin, <br />In cheat and idle talks aroused, <br />And with his hand in bloody specks <br />He put the sting of wizard snakes <br />Into my deadly stoned mouth. <br />With his sharp sword he cleaved my breast, <br />And plucked my quivering heart out, <br />And coals flamed with God's behest, <br />Into my gaping breast were ground. <br />Like dead I lay on desert sands, <br />And listened to the God's commands: <br />'Arise, O prophet, hark and see, <br />Be filled with utter My demands, <br />And, going over Land and Sea, <br />Burn with your Word the humane hearts.'<br /><br />Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-prophet/
