Picture of lake. The lake is quiet and reflection.

the lake

In the flower of youth, I was in luck
d’ abitar del vasto world un luogo
which could not ch’ myself dear and beloved –
tanto m’ It was sweet d’ a wilderness lake
la selvaggia beauty, surrounded by black rocks,
with tall pines towering around.

But then that Night, as on all,
He had them’ She stretched out her mantle,
and the mystic wind and melodious
spent whispering – oh, then,
I would wake with a start
the terror of the lone lake.

Pure, I did not give me fear that terror,
but rather a warm delight –
a delight that’ gemstone mines
not’ flattery or gifts ever could
indurmi to define what was –
e neanche Love – It was also’ Your love.

Death abitava in quelle acque attossicate,
and a tomb in the deep abyss
He knew who was willing to obtain
a relief to her to imagine:
il solingo spirit sapesse fare
an Eden of that’ dark lake.

Edgar Allan Poe,the lake

Thoughts di lago

Lake last edit: Friday,en,30 January 15:11, 2009 the nabladue

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