"And all I loved, I loved alone"

I keep reading and reading again the first paragraphs from Poe's House of Usher. It seems repetition can't strip this poetry from what Rimbaud called "the alchemy of the word". It doesn't matter whether I understand every word, it's about the music.
I remember when I first read those words. I was struck by how similar they felt to a poem from Baudelaire. I checked Wikipedia, and indeed found a link between both men. Baudelaire appreciated and even translated Poe in french.

DURING the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens (...)

This poem, Baudelaire even used an english word to title it: "Spleen"...

Quand le ciel bas et lourd pèse comme un couvercle
Sur l'esprit gémissant en proie aux longs ennuis, (...)

I feel frustrated. While some of the best sentences can be translated perfectly in French...

the hideous dropping off of the veil
--
la laideur tombant le masque 

...others are just meant to remain powerful only in English. Like this wonderful alliteration :

There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart.

Tonight, I just read a bit further than usual, and was stroke by something new...

It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression;

He knows. He knows what it's like to enter a room whose atmosphere is unbearable until one lights some even very weak lamp or candle in one corner. He knows this one little light that suddenly modifies the whole atmosphere of the room, which thus become livable.
As I grew stronger, I became less sensitive to this... problem. When I was a kid, I couldn't properly explain those feelings. And who would understand anyway?

This is another poem from Poe. It begins like this...

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.