In spring of youth it was my lot <br /> To haunt of the wide world a spot <br /> The which I could not love the less- <br /> So lovely was the loneliness <br /> Of a wild lake, with black rock bound, <br /> And the tall pines that towered around. <br /> <br /> But when the Night had thrown her pall <br /> Upon that spot, as upon all, <br /> And the mystic wind went by <br /> Murmuring in melody- <br /> Then- ah then I would awake <br /> To the terror of the lone lake. <br /> <br /> Yet that terror was not fright, <br /> But a tremulous delight- <br /> A feeling not the jewelled mine <br /> Could teach or bribe me to define- <br /> Nor Love- although the Love were thine. <br /> <br /> Death was in that poisonous wave, <br /> And in its gulf a fitting grave <br /> For him who thence could solace bring <br /> To his lone imagining- <br /> Whose solitary soul could make <br /> An Eden of that dim lake.<br /><br />Edgar Allan Poe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lake-24/
