While Byron's strength and simmering rage and Keat's romance with nature are fine,
it was early Shelley that I will most return to.

Byron:

There, thou! whose love and life together fled,
Have left me here to love and live in vain -
Twined with my heart, and, can I deem thee dead,
When busy Memory flashes on my brain?

Keats:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness -
that thous, flight-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodius plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

Shelley:

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to her rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee. ( )

Published by BCA (1992)