Romatic Hearts

What is it about the works of Keats, Austen, The Brontë sisters, and, occasionally,

Dickens and Whitman that beguile me so?

Is it the richness of description and a flourishing, endless

use of vocabulary that captures my heart so strongly? 

Or is it the world in which they lived and described that holds my heart
with a fast and dead-lock grip: The letters, the gardens,

tea three and four times a day,

the picnics, the gorgeous, welcoming homes, light by candle, true, religious
cooking and baking (wholesome and without preservatives),
the love of all things artful and
beautiful (for much of our society has 

lost this love). There are precious few of us, romantic hearts, left

to take full appreciation and advantage of such things.

Precious few people in this day and age,

take the time to read literary classics, with a passion and zeal to match

the books themselves.

I am happy to say, that I do own sealing wax and a seal,

still write old fashioned letters,read classic literature, I am in love with tea and 

with lying in the sun, surrounded by wild nature,

reading good a book. 

"Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind's cage-door,
She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming;
Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew."

John Keats- from Fancy