Sunday, 1 October 2017

The Angel

    Angels are obviously very close to my writing heart. That's why today I have chosen a poem by Russian poet, romantic writer and painter, Mikhail Lermontov. Like the great Robert Burns he also passed away at a very young age.

The Angel

The angel was flying through sky in midnight
And softly he sang in his flight
And clouds, and stars, and the moon in a throng
Hearkened to that holy song
He sang of the garden of God's paradise
Of innocent ghosts in its shade
He sang of the God, and his vivacious praise
Was glories and unfeigned
The juvenile soul he carried in arms
For worlds of distress and alarms
The tune of his charming and heavenly song
Was left in the soul for long
It roamed on earth many long nights and days
Filled with a wonderful thirst
And earth's boring songs could not ever replace
The sounds of heaven it lost

Mikhail Lermontov 1814-1841

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