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/to-the-lake-2/
