Byron Loved the Sea Wordsworth loved his twilight lakes, Yeats the wild duck and the drake, Lawrence glorified the snake, Churchill loved his V; Keats composed seraphic odes, Frost preferred untrodden roads, Larkin spoke of awful toads, but Byron loved the sea.   To some, Rimbaud provides the thrill, or Baudelaire at vaudeville, or Blake and his Satanic mills, or Dylan’s haunted trees; or Teddy Hughes’ creepy crows, or Sylvia’s cataclysmic woes, or Robert Burns’s red, red rose, but I like Byron’s sea.   Tennyson penned dedications, Pope perfected rhymed quotations, Shelley praised the cloud’s formation, Poe loved Annie Lee;…