Fragment: Modern Love

by John Keats

    And what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
    For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
    A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
    That silly youth doth think to make itself
    Divine by loving, nad so goes on
    Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
    Till Miss's comb is made a perfect 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 melted, and I'll say
    That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.