Deep in earth, my love is lying
And I must weep alone
My dearest H,
On a manuscript to a happier poem, Eulalie, written in pencil in the author’s hand, faintly visible was this couplet. It’s believed to have been written shortly after the funeral of Poe’s beloved Virginia. Poe followed his wife soon after to the grave.
It’s part of what we love about Poe. He expressed a remarkable ability to look fear, grief in pain in the eye, to examine it inwardly and outwardly and write about what he saw.
For most of us, love doesn’t have a happy ending. The love that lives the longest, those who love till death does them part, usually leaves one still living, to grieve and miss their lover, their best friend, the center of their world, for the rest of their life. It’s no wonder that for many, like Poe, the loss of their love leads quickly to giving up on living as well.
It’s mercy that it’s possible to love so deeply, so completely, that you can in fact, love someone to death.