Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Edgar Allan Poe

The Lake
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world 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 pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody-
Then- ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight-
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define-
Nor Love- although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining-
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake. 
 Edgar Allan Poe, (1809-1849)

photo Silkeborg 2007: grethe bachmann


Teresa Evangeline said...

There's such a distinct feeling to this poem. I think that was his great gift, that strong sense of place, of mood, Poe always seemed to portray.

Thyra said...

Yes, I liked the poem about the lake.
Have a nice day.

Thyra said...

Hello Teresa! I'm sorry that I was so short. My screen suddenly started to turn white and I couldn't ssee a thing! It showed to be kaput!! I have now got a new screen!

I also like Poe's novels. Maybe I should try to reread them. Some are scary! Maybe read one scary novel in a dark windy winter night! And then I'll have to check the doors and windows!

Cheers to you and Buddy!

Teresa Evangeline said...

And don't forget under the bed... :)