The Beggar by Mikhail Lermontov.

Beside the monastery gate
There

stood, imploring a donation,
A withered beggar, almost dead
From hunger, thirst and deprivation.

A piece of bread was all he sought,
His eyes were proof of living torture,
And someone introduced a stone
Within the fingers which he tendered.

So I implored your love from you
With bitter tears, with anguish heated;
And so the purest of my thoughts
Have been by you forever cheated.