Fragment: Modern Love - Poem 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.