I recently found out that Pushkin has a poem that makes me want to cry:
At Eden's gate a gentle angel
Stood shining with a bowed-down head,
While dark and fierce, the rebel demon
Above the hellish chasm sped.
The spirit born of doubt and scorning
Upon the spirit pure did gaze,
And felt, through unexpected yearning,
A tender warmth for the first days.
"Forgive me," then he softly uttered,
"I saw you, and your light was true;
Not all within this world I hated,
Not all within this world I rue."






















