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* * * 1 The Gothic looks solemn, The plain Doric column Supports an old bishop and crosier; The mouldering arch, Shaded o’er by a larch, Stands next door to Wilson the Hosier. 2 Vice–that is, by turns,– O’er pale faces mourns The black tassell’d trencher and common hat; The chantry boy sings, The steeple-bell rings, And as for the Chancellor–dominat. 3 There are plenty of trees, And plenty of ease, And plenty of fat dear for parsons; And when it is venison, Short is the benison,– Then each on a leg or thigh fastens. John Keats's other poems:
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