Thursday, November 6, 2008

The Lake. To

In spring of youth it was my lot 

To haunt of this 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 it's 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 Allen Poe, 1827

This has always been one of my favorite poems and there was a time when I had it completely memorized.  It seems morbid at first but I find it only slightly haunting and somewhat uplifting.

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