The buildings, all different, form a confused, self-contained mass, whose dead projections are arrested in the pearly, uncertain moonlight. There are rooftops and shadows, windows and middle ages, but nothing around which to have outskirts. There’s a glimmer of the far away in everything I see. Above where I’m standing there are black branches of trees, and all of the city’s sleepiness fills my disenchanted heart. Lisbon by moonlight and my weariness because of tomorrow! What a night! It pleased whoever fashioned the world’s details that for me there should be no better melody or occasion than
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