The Prophet by Aleksandr Pushkin

Longing for spiritual springs,

I dragged myself through desert sands ...

An angel with three pairs of wings

Arrived to me at cross of lands;

With fingers so light and slim

He touched my eyes as in a dream:

And opened my prophetic eyes

Like eyes of eagle in surprise.

He touched my ears in movement, single,

And they were filled with noise and jingle:

I heard a shuddering of heavens,

And angels' flight on azure heights

And  creatures' crawl in long sea nights,

And rustle of vines in distant valleys.

And he bent down to my chin,

And he tore off my tongue of sin,

In cheat and idle talks aroused,

And with his hand in bloody specks

He put the sting of wizard snakes 

Into my deadly stoned mouth.

With his sharp sword he cleaved my breast,

And plucked my quivering heart out,

And coals flamed with God's behest,

Into my gaping breast were ground.

Like dead I lay on desert sands,

And listened to the God's commands:

'Arise, O prophet, hark and see,

Be filled with utter My demands,

And, going over Land and Sea,

Burn with your Word the humane hearts.'