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Wet with most delicious tears.
Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Blé,
Listening with a wild delight
To the chimes that, through the night,
Rang the changes from the belfry
Of that quaint old Flemish city

[graphic]

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES.

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES.

In the market-place of Bruges stands the bel

fry old and brown; Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it

watches o'er the town.

As the summer morn was breaking, on that

lofty tower I stood, And the world threw off the darkness, like the

weeds of widowhood.

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