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- 1827
- THE LAKE. TO --
- 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 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.
-
-
- -THE END-
-