Always dear to me was this solitary hill
and this hedge, which, from so many parts
of the last horizon, the sight excludes.
But sitting and aming endless
spaces beyond it, and superhuman
silences, and the deepest quiet,
I fake myself in my thoughts; where almost
my heart scares. As the wind
I hear rustling through these trees, I, that
infinite silence, to this voice
keep comparing: and I feel the eternal,
the dead seasons, the present,
and living one, and the sound of her. So in this
immensity drown my own thoughts:
and sinking in this sea is sweet to me.