poetry+from+books+page

__The Lake by: Edgar Allan Poe__

In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world 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 towered 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 I would awake To the terror of the lone lake

Yet that terror was not fright, But a tremelous delight A feeling not the jeweled mine Could teach or bribe me to define Nor Love- although th love was thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave, And in it's 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