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Poetry can quietly get into your mind and create a load of emotions which gives pleasure. I had an especially soft spot for Romantic Poets of Britain. I liked the various movement poets for a unique reason, given that I like to be widely read. But I loved nature worship so much, that Romanticism movement was closer to my likings than other movements.

My best four poets of the Romanticism movement were William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and John Keats. All these poets praised and extolled the power of nature. They explored with words the immeasurable beauty of nature.

I remember reading these Romantic poems as a young girl in my 8th grade. Around that time I had begun experimenting writing down my emotions in a young and formfree poems, which were too emotional and lacking in balance. I never experimented with anything more than four line stanzas based poems since that was the level of my control over the lines happened to be.

But my interest in reading romantic poems was a spiritual experience which I will never trade-off for anything. In the cloak of a poem, one could easily annotate one’s life experiences with sharp words.

These four poems, that I am interested in sharing here carries their own wonderful and different beat. William Wordsworth was far more cheerful than Samuel T Coleridge. Or even for that matter each of these Romantic Poets had their own special style of glorifying Mother Nature.

The pleasure given by each of the above poems is basically unique. It is like there are different emotions running around in our mind. The power of poetry captures within those few words a world of expressions.

Daffodils’ made me feel so spirited and positive. Yet in the presence of such wondrous image of the flowers sway and dipping in synchronous way makes a human heart to feel it deep within their soul.

Frost at Midnight’ brought out the protective mother in me. Though set at a dark place yet it shows sparks of innocence that becomes a prayer for the dear ones that come into our lives.

The Cloud’ was bouncy and almost begging for it to rain its knowledge on me. I always felt that cloud cannot be captured and shut into few verses; but then, P B Shelley just does that.

To Autumn’ made me smile at John Keats way of praising and extolling the greatness of the season. Somehow I like the British Autumn over American Fall. The word ‘Autumn’ has a sensuality to it which a mere ‘Fall’ can never replace.

If I could just take my pick of words from both the variant languages then I will take some from British and some from American and some from Indian English.

Any language for that matter has the power to penetrate into the inner most recess of the human heart and bring about a change. I feel a poem is a combination of a poet’s entire rainbow of emotions. Their personalities become the strongest presence that calls out to human sensitivity.

Not only do I just enjoy the presence of a poem; but also enjoy creating them too. Because of its emotional content I tend to keep my poetry just for myself and share with no one. Yet sometimes there is a secular poem that burst forth for sharing. Those poems are rare and as always have my emotional side coloring it.