After being away from poetry for a while, 
though never truly away in my heart, I hope to 
type some poems that reflect the Romantic poets' 
values. I preface this with a picture of Chatterton, 
who was supposed to have killed himself, but in reality, 
may have been just an overdose of the popular things 
at the time, laudanum and arsenic, and not a true suicide.
 No matter whether from drugs, drink or intended death, 
the Romantic poets did have a singular mission, to bring 
real, strong emotional depth to the realms of our placid, 
and rather dull, existence. Is it better to burn out than 
to fade away? I think the Romantics preffered the former...
but we can only look back and look forward, to make our own 
minds up....
and here is Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Mutability:
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver.
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever;

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest. A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise. On wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away.

It is the same! --for be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability. 
 
-P.B. Shelley