Picture of lake. The lake is quiet and reflection.
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.
Edgar Allan Poe,the lake
Thoughts di lago