Whoever sets out to discuss the Romantic movement will soon be faced with the problem of definition, for romanticism, like religion itself, is notoriously difficult to define. It has even been argued that the very word ‘romantic’ has come to mean so many things ‘that, by itself, it means nothing. It has ceased to perform the function of a verbal sign.’ This, no doubt, is an extreme view, and it has not gone unrefuted. Yet to discover any single principle of unity in romanticism still defies ingenuity. As Kierkegaard declared: ‘I must first protest against the notion that romanticism can be enclosed within a concept; for romantic means precisely that it oversteps all bounds.’ Negatively, it is opposed to classicism, but the essence of classicism likewise cannot easily be encapsulated in a phrase. On the other hand, as with many other things that tend to elude exact definition, classicism and romanticism are almost always clearly distinguishable in practice. To take some obvious instances in literature, we know that Dryden or Pope and Racine are ‘classicists’, whereas Shelley and Lamartine or Victor Hugo are ‘romanticists’. But when it comes to naming the special qualities shown by either pair of authors in contrast with the other we feel less sure about an answer.