By Mikhail Lermontov
At midnight an angel was flying in sky,
Singing a silent song.
A moon and a star and the cloulds high
Were drawn in that sacred show.
He sang of a bliss of the sinless saints
Under the alcove of Eden's gardens,
He sang of great God, and that praise
Was unfeigned and true as a guidance.
He clasped a new soul, young to love
The world of sadness and tears.
The sounds of his song remained inside
Without a word, but living.
She lived so long, in tortures much,
Keeping desire of phoenix.
And dull were the earth songs instead of such
A beautiful sound of heavens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem