Modern Love
John Keats
1795 to 1821
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And what is love? It is a doll dress’d
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss’s comb made a pearl tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm’d world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play’d deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, I’ll say
That ye may love in spite of hats.