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


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[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.

 


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Notes:

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

 

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