Isabella; Or, The Pot of Basil
XLIX.

John Keats

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Ah! wherefore all this wormy circumstance?

Why linger at the yawning tomb so long?

O for the gentleness of old Romance,

The simple plaining of a minstrel's song!

Fair reader, at the old tale take a glance,

For here, in truth, it doth not well belong

To speak:- O turn thee to the very tale,

And taste the music of that vision pale.

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