Last night I slept—it might have been this morning,
I cannot tell—and, as I slept, methought
That as I wandered all alone, amid
The moonlight tombs of some old cloistered square,
I saw a man, arrayed in monkish frock,
And yet (so much at variance with themselves
Are sleeping fantasies) he was no monk,
But some young errant knight of noble rank,
The very flower of gentle chivalry!
Entranced, I gazed upon him, marvelling much