Poetry, like art, often tries to capture a feeling, a sensation, a mood rather than trying to accurately describe a thing with clinical-like precision and the Romantic poets (as Romantic artists) were masters here. The technically perfect Keats, the morose and self-conscious Shelley, the ‘mad, bad and dangerous to know’ Lord Byron, and the unpresumptuous (well, a bit anyway) Wordsworth all revere the power, the majesty and the beauty of nature; their poetry is often introspective contemplating the importance of existence and bemoaning the impact that man has made to the natural world.
