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