The Romantic Movement

The Website of The Romantic Movement

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George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron    (1788-1824)      Percy Bysshe Shelley   (1792-1822)        

James Henry Leigh Hunt    (1784-1859)                  John Keats    (1795-1821)


"Love is the only satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence."

                                              - Erich Fromm

Welcome to the Romantic Movement!  This website is, and will probably ever be, a work in progress... I have recently added new pictures of Shelley, Poe, Dylan Thomas, etc., and made some additions such as Charles Brown's Memoir on Keats, Shelley's prose including A Defence of Poetry and the Necessity of Atheism and Trelawny's account of the burning of Shelley's body, etc. with more revisions and additions to come.

Please click on the navigation bars to view my various pages, which include everything from Byron's masterpiece Don Juan and a delightful essay by Dylan Thomas to a complete ebook on the critic and poet Matthew Arnold.  I have also included a few of my own poems, some of which won awards recently, two of which follow, and also an opening fragment from my upcoming book, American Frankenstein, combining historical and fictional characters with a new twist.  Please let me know if you want to see more of this as yet unfinished work! will attempt, first and foremost, to be a memorial site to the poets of the Romantic Movement, in particular the Young Romantics; John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley (this writer's favourite) and George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron, as well as the insightful Leigh Hunt, a lesser poet, but a prolific essayist and editor of the Examiner who gave crucial early encouragement to those who later surpassed him in talent.

Although this site emphasises the Young Romantics, it will be more eclectic and include poets of many eras, from John Donne to Dylan Thomas.  In my opinion, real poetry of the last half century or so is so rare that it deserves little mention.  Like Modern Art, Modern Poetry is largely an oxymoron.

I will include English language poets who wrote mainly of the positive aspects of love and life, of "Beauty" and "Truth", though it may include a poet like poor, pathetic Poe, whose verse is often dark, but hauntingly beautiful and spellbindingly intense. 

I believe true poetry has to be beautiful, if indeed it is to be classed as poetry.  If we want to immerse ourselves in that which is unpleasant, we can turn on the television or radio, read the newspapers, or view a film, but I believe poetry should be a refuge from the utter and base ugliness which so often surrounds us, and a safe haven from the tempest of daily life.  Poetry should indeed be a 'Thing of Beauty'.

There is a plethora of information from which to choose to set up a website of this nature, and it is quite a task to select material for the site I envision.

I hope not only to give extracts from the Poets' works, but also anecdotes, biographical information, information about their residences, etc. 

Thank you for looking at my site, and come back soon!

Lastly, I would like to stress that if you do not believe that Poetry has any importance in today's world, you are sadly mistaken, you are unquestionably at the wrong place, and, frankly, in the wrong World!

Omnia vincit amor



I clipt my seraph's wings.

She cannot fly away.

The light her presence brings

Illuminates each day.


She'd fallen from the sky,

Or maybe God had let her go.

I will not ask, I care not why.

I only want to know her ethereal glow.


Her light so bright showed me the way

To her pure and loving heart.

Angel mine, to you I pray,

Oh promise me, we'll never part!

19 December 2011

When My Darling Weeps

(For LC)

When my Darling Weeps,
I weep too.

For her Tears
Are my own.

When my Angel Sleeps
I dream of her.

When my Sweetheart Smiles,
I melt.

When she Talks,
My world is She alone.

And when she Sings,
The Seraphim are jealous.

But when my Luzel Loves,
Praise God, she's mine!

My Saviour

My Saviour came to me when I

Thought Love long since had pass'd me by;

When Happiness did seem an empty dream,

A single teardrop 'midst a briny stream.

From Eastern isles She came to bless

This weary, cynic soul with tenderness.

No goddess ethereal, nor spectral prophet She,

But much, much more; the very world to me!

You may have your Saviour in the clouds above,

I'll worship mine, the woman whom I love.

She snatch'd me from the Depths, She saved my life.

She who is my Saviour, my darling, my ...

Poem 2011 Christopher Boucher


 Fragment from my American Frankenstein


...One of my less scrupulous assistants who helped in procuring bodies for my dissection classes had told me of the recent drowning death in the Schuylkill River of a middle-aged woman who had no known relations.  She was due to be laid to rest in a few hours time.  I gathered my bone saw and bag of tools together and made my way to the churchyard where she was to be buried, collecting my assistant on the way. 


After the minister had said a few words over the mournerless body and was just out of sight, but before too many shovels-full of dirt had covered the departed, I appeared from behind a tree and spoke.


"Stop!" I exclaimed to the thin, unwashed gentleman filling the hole. 


"Oh, it's you, Dr Schmidt!  Need another specimen, do you?"


"Not the whole thing today, John." I replied.  "Just a leg."


"Just a leg?" he repeated, laughing.   "That's a new one!  Alright, then, but be quick, sir!  I have more graves to dig this afternoon."


My assistant and I jumped into the hole and pried off the coffin lid.  I took out my now beloved saw and hastily removed most of the lady's right leg, a little more than I would actually require, so as to allow for an error in exact measurement.  I wrapped the bloody limb in burlap and climbed back into the daylight. 


"Thanks, John, here's a little silver for your troubles," I said as I placed a few gleaming silver dollars into his eager hands.


"Happy to be of service, Doc," replied John as he placed the coins in his waistcoat pocket.


Once back in my lab, I unwrapped the leg and put it on ice...


New Moon

Phase the First

(Lines to a Child Unborn)


Pale moon, rejuvenator of my Soul,

Illumine softly, gentler than the Sun.

Thy soothing glow hast made me whole

And enlightened me, my Blessed One.


Pale moon, creation of nine thousand miles -

Thou miracle of Love, thou destined Star,

Brighten even bleakest Night with Smiles

And let thy laughter echo 'midst the hills afar.


Anastasia, my Child of Light so young,

Thy birth has changed our Universe, 'tis true.

None of Heaven's Seraphim or Cherubim has sung

Through all Eternity, a Song more beautiful than You.

Poem 2010 Christopher Boucher  



This is a very rare pencil sketch of Shelley done in life by the American William West, who was painting Byron's portrait when Shelley arrived at his studio in 1822.   It is very important as it is the only likeness of Shelley done in life by a trained artist.  West would produce a small painting based on this sketch which can be seen on one of my Shelley pages.

To send comments, email me at the following address:


A website I would highly recommend:

Leigh Hunt Online, is an excellent resource for anyone who loves the Romantic Poets, with letters by and to Leigh Hunt and letters from Shelley, Byron and others of the Romantic and Victorian periods.  A letter in my possession from Hunt to Lady Stanley of Alderley is available for viewing on this site.

The Importance of Poetry

The best Poet

The best Person

C. S. Boucher, Outside London

Bill Gates Retires