By Tom Riley
(In memoriam Edgar Allan Poe, d. 7 October 1849)
In youth I stumbled on you, Mr. Poe.
Eureka! You were what that youngster needed.
Imperfectly do stumbling youngsters grow--
but still, in my own fashion, I proceeded.
I understood that you, sir, understood--
not with the lofty coldness of the sages
but with the sight that sees as poets should,
knowing that beauty lasts through tortured ages.
Did lesser critics labor to dismiss
the works your harried genius generated?
Did toads croak, and did gathered serpents hiss,
that you by lads like me were overrated?
I turn the page I’ve often turned since then.
Eureka! I have found you once again!
--
Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!
Anathema to the Union!
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