Friend

Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?

by Rabindranath Tagore

Comments (6)

Reading again & again. Just beautiful
I never thought Joyce to be much of a poet.
Bit surprised that JJ produced such a weak poem. Must be early work, juvenilia.
This try comes in the form of advice with a powerful ending. I liked the development of this piece from beginning to end. I think the poet did well here. Luis Estable
Dunno what the true meaning is, though.
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