Recently I was reading a series of essays, “English Romantic Poets: Modern Essays in Criticism” edited by M. H. Abrams in 1960. One writer, I think it was the poet Donald Davie,  mentioned how when he was young and first introduced to the Romantics he loved Shelley to the point of memorizing his poems and quoting him freely.  Now writing in 1956 and 25 years after university, he found there were few poems by him he could bare to read, much less quote.  I found that hilarious because as a young lit student, I too loved Shelley and like he, here…