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
 In its stilly melody,
 My infant spirit would awake
 To the terror of the 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 though could even make
 An Eden of that dim lake.