Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “The Lake” (Text-03), “Wilmer” manuscript collection, about 1828


[front, continued:]

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 pines that tower’d around. [back:]

But, when the night had thrown her pall

Upon that spot, as upon all,

And the wind would pass me by

In a stilly melody,

My boyish spirit would awake

To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,

But a tremulous delight,

And a feeling undefined

Springing from a darken’d mind.

Death was in that poison’d 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.



The MS bears the page number 29 on the front, and 30 on the back.


[S:0 - MS, 1828 (photocopy)] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - The Lake [Text-03]