In the market place of Bruges stands the Belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The Belfry of Bruges)
As he walked, the sad faded leaves were driven pitilessly around him by the wind, and under the mingling influences of autumn and evening, a craving for the quietude of the grave...overtook him with unwanted intensity.
(Georges Rodenbach. Bruges-La-Morte)
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