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For some people it's the poet not the poetry. And can you blame them? Some poets simply fascinate. Take the following article discussing Byron's menagerie:

During his courtship of Theresa Guccioli, Byron rented the upper floor of her husband, Count Guccioli’s villa in Ravenna and proceeded to make himself at home by installing a menagerie of "ten horses, eight enormous dogs, three monkeys, five cats, an eagle, a crow, and a falcon." When the poet Shelley visited the count a few month later, he was met on the staircase by "five peacocks, two guinea hens and an Egyptian crane". In 1819 Byron wrote happily to his friend Francis Hodgson, "I have got two monkeys and a fox - and two new mastiffs - Mutz is still in high old age. The monkeys are charming."