The next time it's blowing a real storm out there and you're strangely enjoying the wildness of the rain, dashed and thrashed against your window, take an uneasy walk with Edgar through a night of denial, qualified remorse, false hope, fate and ultimate resignation. He was a troubled soul who seems to have moulded his uncertainties into a gripping and incisive expertise in the articulation of notions of compelling, destructive romance, seen in an eerie light through disillusioned, fearful, spiritual and yet all too realistic eyes. I frequently revisit this poem. There's a link to it to your right. Wait until the weather and the time of night are both appropriate!
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