O Tell Me The Truth About Love

Some say love's a little boy,

And some say it's a bird,

Some say it makes the world go around,

Some say that's absurd,

And when I asked the man next-door,

Who looked as if he knew,

His wife got very cross indeed,

And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,

Or the ham in a temperance hotel?

Does its odour remind one of llamas,

Or has it a comforting smell?

Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,

Or soft as eiderdown fluff?

Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?

O tell me the truth about love.

- W. H. Auden

Bouquet of Roses, Fantin Latour, 1885