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The Lake

Edgar Allen Poe

In youth's spring, it was my lot
To haunt of the wide earth a spot
The wich I could not love the less;
So loverly was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with a black rock bound,
And the tall pines that tower'd around.

But when the light had thrown her pall
Upon that spot-as aupoun all,
And the wind would pass me by
In its still melody,
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of that lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright-
But a tremulous delight,
And a feeling undefin'd
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 dark imagining;
Whose wild'ring thought could even make
And Eden of that dim lake

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