THE LAKE - TO - Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 - 1849

THE LAKE - TO - Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 - 1849 In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide earth a spot The which I could not love the less -  So lovely was the loneliness Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, And the tall pines that tower’d around.  But when the Night had thrown her pall  Upon that spot, as upon all,  And the mystic wind went by  Murmuring in melody  Then - ah then I would awake  To the terror of the lone lake. Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremulous delight - A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define - Nor Love - although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave, And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining -  Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.      1827.