The author of this hipply-named group of verse, Edgar Allan Poe, might have noded: "Your novel ideas of angst have already occurred to others already." Definitely an hundred and seventy years ahead of it all.  The Rue Morgue not taken.  He seems to be talking from the grave to the readers of his poem.

_____________

             TO---

I HEED not that my earthly lot
   Hath-little of Earth in it---
That years of love have been forgot
   In the hatred of a minute:--
I mourn not that the desolate
   Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
   Who am a passer-by.

1829

Edgar Allan Poe