Ford blushed. He felt this man was probably making fun of him, and hadn't decided yet whether he ought to be put out about it. He hadn't been in love, he didn't think, but neither did he particularly want to be. He couldn't afford to marry anyone, now or possibly ever, so what good would it do to fall in love? It would just give him an excuse to write bad poetry, apparently.

At least he didn't seem to be inclined to berate Ford's taste in poetry. He was pleasantly surprised to hear that the man recognized the lines, and that he described Poe such an... enraptured fashion. Ford didn't know many people who had actually read Poe, though he was famous enough in the Muggle world that most people at least knew the name. But this gentleman hadn't just latched on to a familiar name; he'd actually recognized the lines.

"If I tried to write poetry I might embarrass myself anyway," he admitted with a shrug. "Without even having to have fallen in love first."