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In Barcelona's summer night
A Spanish guitar's slow strumming
Went floating on the lazy air,
By many a sweet street coming--
Here snatching scent of tapas dough,
A woman's easeful laughter there--
Assailing me with such cruel yearning
I halted on an ancient stair
Beneath a consecrated arch
That cupped the moon in curving blue,
All trembling in my sight, and dim,
In Barcelona's summer night
In Barcelona's summer night
For songs that should not end, but do.
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