I’ve felt the daffodils, danced along with them
Hand in hand with Wordsworth and all his anthem.
Sailed with Coleridge and his ancient Mariner,
Turned my anger into the Poison Tree of Blake, o’ dear Orator.
The first epoch was my guide
But the second is where I bide.
Travelled all the way with Byron to the city of Athens,
Awed at all the bards and their tale of Heracles.
Found Prometheus still wretched and bound
As was told by Shelley and his altered mound.
Keats is where I relate the most
For I feel the same belatedness and my era, a strange host.
His tune of the nightingale made my mind light as linen
As I drift back and forth in the lands of Helen.
Achilles, Odysseus and all those who wonder,
It was you who introduced me to Chapman’s Homer.
Byron, Shelley, Keats you are the pillar of my love for aesthetics
But is it too late to call myself, “The Last of The Romantics”?
4th year 1st semester