Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | October 16, 2008


by Giacomo Leopardi (1798 – 1837).




Always dear to me was this lonely hill,

And this hedge, which from me so great a part

Of the farthest horizon excludes the gaze.

But as I sit and watch, I invent in my mind

endless spaces beyond, and superhuman                           5

silences, and profoundest quiet;

wherefore my heart

almost loses itself in fear. And as I hear the wind

rustle through these plants, I compare

that infinite silence to this voice:                                        10

and I recall to mind eternity,

And the dead seasons, and the one present

And alive, and the sound of it. So in this

Immensity my thinking drowns:

And to shipwreck is sweet for me in this sea.                   15



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