John Keats

* * *

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.