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The Eve Of Waterloo Darkness Prometheus She walks in Beauty And Thou art Dead, as Young and Fair The Glove Phantasy - To Laura Rapture - To Laura The Secret Of the Lady Pietra degli Scrovigni My lady carries love within her eyes Death, always cruel Of Beauty and Duty To Luna To the Distant One The Fisherman The Castle on the Mountain The Raven The Lake Alone A Dream Within a Dream On His Blindness On His Deceased Wife To the Lady Margaret Ley Light |
Edgar Allan Poe - The LakeIn 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. |
