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Text: Edgar Allan Poe, "The Lake" (B), "Wilmer" manuscript collection, about 1828





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.









Notes:

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 (B)