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