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Poem by Edgar Allan Poe


The Lake To


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.



Edgar Allan Poe


Edgar Allan Poe's other poems:
  1. An Acrostic
  2. The Divine Right of Kings
  3. Sancta Maria
  4. Enigma
  5. To the River


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