The Night is my Shelter

In spring of youth it was my lotTo haunt of the wide world a spotThe which I could not love the less,So lovely was the lonelinessOf a wild lake, with black rock bound,And the tall pines that towered around.But when the night had thrown her pallUpon that spot, as upon all,And the mystic wind went byMurmuring in melody,Then - ah then I would awakeTo the terror of the lone lake.Yet that terror was not fright,But a tremulous delight,A feeling not the jewelled mineCould 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 graveFor him who thence could solace bringTo his lone imagining,Whose solitary soul could makeAn Eden of that dim lake.