There are the modern prophets here, <br />Though altars totally are felt, <br />Their eyes are very deep and clear – <br />In them, the flame of future set. <br /> <br />For them, the calls of fame are alien, <br />They’re pressed by mass and depth of words, <br />All they are frightened, pale and sullen <br />In tombs of stony abodes. <br /> <br />And sometimes in the fits of sadness, <br />A prophet, just repelled by us, <br />Rise up to skies his look of greatness – <br />The look of clear and beaming eyes. <br /> <br />He says that he’s in bonds of madness, <br />But that his soul’s a light for us, <br />That he has seen in depths of sadness <br />The shining face of Jesus Christ. <br /> <br />The dreams of Lord have many faces, <br />Kind is a hand of him, who gives, <br />Not just the one, like him, in grace is, <br />And as a knight of kindness lives. <br /> <br />He says that World is not such fierce, <br />That he’s a prince of Future Dawn. <br />But just the towers’ black spirits <br />Listen to him with mock and scorn.<br /><br />Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-prophets/
