This lonely hill was always dear to me,
And this hedge, which from so much
Of the far-off horizon excludes the view.
But sitting and gazing, endless
Spaces beyond that, and superhuman
Silences, and deepest quiet
I imagine in my thoughts, where for a little
My heart is not afraid. And as I hear
The wind rustle among these plants, I compare
That infinite silence to this voice.
And I remember the eternal,
And the dead seasons, and the present
And alive, and the sound of it. Thus between
This immensity my thought is drowned.
And shipwreck is sweet to me in this sea.
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