| 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 towered 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
|
| 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 undefined
|
| 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
|
| To his dark imagining
|
| Whose wildering thought could even make
|
| An Eden of that dim lake
|
| 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
|
| My infant spirit would awake
|
| To the terror of the lone lake
|
| My infant spirit would awake
|
| To the terror of the lake
|
| Springing from a darkened mind
|
| So lovely was the loneliness
|
| In youth’s spring, it was my lot
|
| In its stilly melody
|
| An Eden of that dim lake
|
| An Eden of that dim lake
|
| Lone, lone, lonely
|
| Lone, lone, lonely
|
| Lone, lone, lonely |