The Lake

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.