Sometimes I think we cannot die from wounds of mortal giving as long as there's a friend to guard the heart that bleeds from living.
Though like Achilles, it may seem we wear an outer armor, always there is one spot untouched by the renewing water.
And here, alone, the shafts could fly but for the friend to say: "Upon this spot I press MY heart!" And death must walk away.
"The Friend" is a poem about how friendship can keep us alive when life hurts most. The speaker begins with a quiet hope: perhaps we can't be destroyed by the wounds that living gives us, so long as someone is guarding our heart.
The central image comes from the story of Achilles, the warrior whose body was protected everywhere except one small place. The speaker suggests we are all like that. We may look armored and strong, but each of us has a single unprotected spot. Here the poem turns tender and slightly dramatic. When the arrows fly toward that weak point, a friend steps in and presses their own heart against it, and death simply walks away.
The mood is gentle, grateful, and quietly triumphant. There is no anger or fear here, only trust. The capitalized "MY" gives the friend's voice a sudden force, as if loyalty itself were a shield stronger than any armor.