In youth's spring, it was my lot
To haunt of the wide earth 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 trees that tower'd around.
But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot-as upon all,
And the wind would pass me by
In its stilly melody,
My infant spirit would awake
To theterror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright-
But a tremulous delight,
And a feeling undefin'd,
Springing from a darken'd mind.
Death wasin that poison'd wave
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his dark imagining;
Whose wild'ring thought could even make
An Eden of that dim lake.