57720: Perversity

<p dir="ltr"> We all love more the Passed and the To Be<br> Than actual time, and far things more than near.<br> Perverse we all are somehow; calling dear<br> Rather the rare than fair. But as for me,<br> How singular and sad that I should see<br> More loveliness in Grecian marbles clear<br> Than modern flesh, to beauty insincere;<br> Less glory in a man than any tree.<br> I fall in love with children, elfin fair;<br> Portraits; dark ladies in dark tales antique;<br> Or instantaneous faces passed in streets.<br> I know the dim old gods that never were,<br> Better than men. One friend I love unique,<br> But now, thou canst not dream I love thee, Keats!</p>