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
