Text: Edgar Allan Poe (ed. James H. Whitty), “The Lake,” The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1911, p. 128


[page 128, unnumbered:]


TO ——


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 —

But when the night had thrown her pall

Upon that spot, as upon all,


And the ghastly wind went by


In a dirge-like melody,


Then — ah then I would awake


To the terror of that lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,

But a tremulous delight —


A feeling not the jewell’d mine

Could teach or bribe me to define,

Nor Love — although the love were thine.

Death was in that poison’d wave,


And in its depth 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.







[S:0 - JHW11, 1911] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - The Lake (ed. J. H. Whitty, 1911)