Romanticism Writing? Could it be? -Prose

[I'm liking it here, thus far. Everyone who has welcomed me on Mibba has been very kind ^o^
I think I'll be sticking around for some time. I'm glad I joined.]

Today we had an "art gallery" in World History, where we judged each other's pieces as;
Romanticism
Realism
Impressionism

I knew I wanted to participate, but had no idea where to start.
So I looked back on things I had written in the past, and selected an excerpt from a story I've been writing since 2011.
Of course, I made quite a few changes so as to incorporate the elements that would define it's style.
This is what I wrote;

Un Amanecer En Primavera

The sun rose too early for my liking. Snatching a thin blanket and a pack of cigarettes, the cool wood felt nice beneath my bare feet as I trudged onto the porch to greet morning. In the distance, towering trees hid the luminosity of dawn and its vibrant colors. First, they ascended timidly, shy of letting their glow leave the earth speechless. They dared to touch only the jagged outline of those unreachable emerald towers. Gradually, they gained confidence as they set a striking scenery of intense colors that enhanced the beauty of the vast sky. Every ray of light descended heavenly, with acrobatic grace before making a landing on the tips of the dead grass scattered across the barren land. The gilded sun, bright and proud, smiled at its audience. On that queue, the jet bugs opened their show with spontaneous flight. They performed an eccentric ballet with twirls and prances to the buzz of their natural music. Then emerged the dandelion nymphs. The earth was their stage, and the sun their eternal spotlight. Swaying in the sweet zephyr of mother’s coo, their white delicate fluff and weak stem embodied infancy. The performance was complete, morning had begun. I sucked in at the bud of the cancer stick I was smoking, let out an exasperated sigh as I watched the swirl of smoke dance, and disappear into the blur of hues.