Romantics. who lasts

All of 'em, frankly. Blake is still my favorite because he wasn't a Romantic per se, he was just nuts. Shelley (P.) I would probably get along the easiest with if I had to talk them all, Byron would be fascinating but would drive me nuts, Keats I dunno, and Wordsworth and Coleridge would eventually make me uncomfortable.

Search -- the Gustave Dore illustrated edition of Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," which is just astonishing; Hazlitt's criticism of Byron all hunched up in 'nook monastic' writing his work, a description of Romantic sensibility not topped for years; Mary Shelley's patience in dealing with all these characters and her ability to outcool them all with the most rigorously atheist and freaked-out artistic product of the lot, namely _Frankenstein_

Destroy -- anything Wordsworth and Coleridge did later in life. Anyone who's had to read even the slightest snippet of the tedious yawnfest that is _The Excursion_ will know whereof I speak.

Byron gets props because he stole my name. And actually, most of those guys have already lasted 100 plus years. Personally, I like Wordsworth, especially at his more concise. And Thomas Hardy, although that depends where you bookend the period I suppose. And whatever Blake was, he wrote some stunning lyrics.

I have never considered blake a romantic. he was off in his own corner. a mad and often important visioanry. Jersulum esp. should be viewed as or more important then Paradaise Lost , but then i hate milton

The problem w. Byron is that he has a touch of Oscar and Andy. Persona winning over (impressive) content. Don Juan was silly in places but i do not think a more lovely line has been written then she walks in beauty like the night.

Coleridge, Christabel, nuff said
Wordsworth , i would rathere die in a vat of fire ants then read the excurating simple minded and milkfed poetry. How could he know someone like COleridge who wrote about nature as a violent and consuming mother and then write some peice of hallmark tripe like Daffodils .

Shelly does not tell you what is goign on, he lets it move slowly thru you, an artist of subterfuge. Like ode to teh west wind which is a revoutionary peice if ever there was one but is couched in this lovely "nothing gold will stay" imagery"

I hated keats at 15 and have been too petty to go back
Also props to Mary for the best metaphysical monster mash evah

Well, Wordsworth deserves some credit. I mean, "We murder to dissect." That is a bad-ass line!

My hatred of wordsworth know no bounds,anything good came from cloeridge who is a minor god

tennyson - yum~!

Blake, Byron, Mary Shelley and Keats = major classic. Too much of my misspent youth was spent out in a cornfield reciting odes about autumn and nightingales and things like that to rather unbemused cows.

Percy Bysshe = MAJOR DUD!!! Oh beauty, oh joy, oh my fucking arse. He didn't fall off that boat, he was pushed. Ugh.