The Lake

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