Where Now?

I drift in dark unrest and pain.
Where now? you ask, and ask again.

Ask the wild horses of the sea,
The scudding clouds' wild company,

As they are whipped when winds ride high,
Scouring the plains of earth and sky.

Not one of them could answer where,
Or guide me out of my despair.

But this I know beyond surmise -
I'll never more behold her eyes;

Yet earth contains no hiding-place
In which I could forget her face.


***

I didn't write this, of course. A great Slovenian poet did. But I find it appropriate to post a poem of his on the eve of the national cultural holiday. I doubt the bard would have wanted Slovenians to celebrate the anniversary of his death but that's exactly what we do. Are we nuts or what!

By the way, the poet's name is France Prešeren.