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XXIII
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?
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