THE INFINITE.This lonely hill to me was ever dear,This hedge, which shuts from view so large a partOf the remote horizon. As I sitAnd gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceiveThe boundless spaces that beyond it range,The silence supernatural, and restProfound; and for a moment I am calm.And as I listen to the wind, that throughThese trees is murmuring, its plaintive voiceI with that infinite compare;And things eternal I recall, and allThe seasons dead, and this, that round me lives,And utters its complaint. Thus wanderingMy thought in this immensity is drowned;And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea.
This lonely hill to me was ever dear,This hedge, which shuts from view so large a partOf the remote horizon. As I sitAnd gaze, absorbed, I in my thought conceiveThe boundless spaces that beyond it range,The silence supernatural, and restProfound; and for a moment I am calm.And as I listen to the wind, that throughThese trees is murmuring, its plaintive voiceI with that infinite compare;And things eternal I recall, and allThe seasons dead, and this, that round me lives,And utters its complaint. Thus wanderingMy thought in this immensity is drowned;And sweet to me is shipwreck on this sea.