A lonely monk is loitering within The dusky area, at the altar seen, Like a pale spirit kneeling in the light Of the cold moon, that looketh wan and white Through the deviced oriel; and he lays His hands upon his bosom, with a gaze To the chill earth. He had the youthful look Which heartfelt woe had wasted, and he shook At every gust of the unholy breeze, That enter'd through the time-worn crevices.

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