Today I remebered about my favourite poem by Edgar Allan Poe. He has always been one of my favourite authors of both prose and poetry. This American author was a true romantisist and one of the best writers of what we now know as horror and fantasy. His work is very deeply psychological and surrealist. You can see the symptoms of WeltShmetz in his characters, which was a common sore for many romantic heroes.
The Lake by Edgar Allan Poe
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.
