I carry inside my heart,
As in a chest too full to shut,
All the places where I’ve been,
All the ports at which I’ve called,
All the sights I’ve seen through windows and portholes...
And from quarterdecks, dreaming,
And all of this, which is so much, is nothing next to what I want.
(Álvaro de Campos, Passage of the hours)
As in a chest too full to shut,
All the places where I’ve been,
All the ports at which I’ve called,
All the sights I’ve seen through windows and portholes...
And from quarterdecks, dreaming,
And all of this, which is so much, is nothing next to what I want.
(Álvaro de Campos, Passage of the hours)
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