The Prophet
          Alexander Pushkin

                    My spirit wracked by thirst for grace,
                    I wandered in a darkling land
                    And at a crossing of the ways
                    Beheld a six-wing'd Seraph stand.
                    With fingers light as dream at night
                    He brushed mine eyes and they grew bright
                    Opening unto prophecies
                    Wild as a startled eaglet's eyes.
                    He touched mine ears. Then noise and sound
                    Poured into me from all around:
                    I heard the shudders of the sky,
                    The sweep of angel hosts on high,
                    The creep of beasts below in the seas,
                    The seep of sap in valley trees.
                    And leaning to my lips he wrung
                    Thereout my sinful slithered tongue
                    Of guile and idle caviling;
                    And with his bloody fingertips
                    He set between my wasting lips
                    A Serpent's wise and forkèd sting.
                    And with his sword he cleft my chest
                    And ripped my quaking heart out whole,
                    And in my sundered breast he pressed
                    A blazing shard of living coal.
                    There in the desert I lay dead
                    Until the voice from heaven said:
                    “Arise O Prophet! Work My will,
                    Thou that hast now perceived and heard.
                    On land and sea thy charge fulfill
                    And burn Man's heart with this My Word.”

                    Alexander Pushkin
                    The Prophet
                    Translated by A.Z. Foreman

See also

• Texts. Blok, Alexander. Scythians
• Texts. Therese of Lisieux. Story. Counsels and Reminiscences

Links

• Wikipedia: Alexander Pushkin
• Wikipedia: The Twelve
• Alexander Blok, Scythians

Bibliography

• Alexander Pushkin on Google Books