You probably shouldn’t even read this post unless you have a poetic soul.
…but if you do, you might have these strange melancholy moods, where you read sad poetry for days, and don’t eat. When I’m in this mood, I read my main man Algernon Charles Swinburne, Victorian poet. I discovered Charles when I read his poem The Garden of Proserpine. You’ll probably recognize it–especially the last two stanzas which hauntingly embrace the inevitability of death. [Read more...]