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Friday, 17 March 2006 00:00

The Infinite

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It's always dear to me, this lonely hill.
This hedgerow that happens to obscure
The whole vista of the far horizon;
Sitting here, observing - through the endless
Spaces beyond - and the unnatural
Quiet and stillness all around,
I lose myself in my thoughts, and this heart
Misses a beat. A breeze ruffles
The branches. When I hear it and compare
The lonely voice of the leaves to the vast
Cacophony of silence without, I remember
The eternal, the dead seasons, the living
Moments and the murmurs they make, until
My thoughts are drowned out by infinity:
And how sweet it is to be shipwrecked like this.

Translated from the Italian of Giacoma Leopardi by Peter Jukes

Read 2007 times Last modified on Thursday, 30 October 2014 12:20
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