The Lake…

ronahope1

 

 

   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 trees that tower’d around.

   But when the night had thrown her pall

  Upon that spot – as upon all,

  And the wind would pass me by

  In its stilly melody,

  My infant spirit would awake

  To the terror of the lone lake.

   Yes that terror was not fright –

   But a tremulous delight,

    And a feeling undefined,

   Springing from a darkened mind.

   Death was in that poisoned wave

   And its gulf a fitting grave

   For him who thence could solace bring?

   To his dark imagining;

   Whose wild’ring thought…

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