In youth's spring, it was my lot
To haunt of the wide earth a spot
To 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
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright--
Springing from a darkened mind.
Death was in that poisoned wave
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
Whose wildering though could even make
An Eden of that dim lake.