Below I could not love no more,
"The House of Usher" is not merely an old decrapped castle... It is also a state of being. During the whole of dull, dark and soundless day. In the autumn of that year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in heavens, I had been passing alone, on the horseback. Through the singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself as the shades of evening dew on, within view of the melancholy “House of Usher”. I know not how it was but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I looked upon the simple landscape features of the domain upon the bleak walls, upon a few white trunks of decayed trees with an utter depression of soul. There wasn't an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart. Detachment.