Sonnet: The Philosophy of Love

Plato! Thou teachst to Men the Form of Love,
And thought that which the Gods quite suit
Can fit so smooth, so closely like a glove
To mere Mortal hands - but Form is no Fruit.

Chaucer! The Wife of Bath, her lives unfold;
The Form of Love? How she should laugh and mock
At those philosophers, those men that scold
Their flesh - her moral tale, such men should shock.

Byron! No man forgets young Juan's kiss
On fingers slender, hand of Julia,
That brought 'bout tempest and war, sweeping through his
Adventures - Price for Love's Utopia!

What poets remember, thinkers do forget;
The Heart demands, philosophers regret.