I always had a love for this lone hill,
and this hedge, too, which blocks so large a part
of the utmost horizon from my view.
But as I sit and ponder, limitless
spaces there are beyond it and unearthly
silences more than man's and deepest stillness
Which I shape in my thought, until the heart
is all but daunted. And, as I hear wind
rustling amid this foliage, I set that
infinite silence up against this voice
comparing them; and I recall the Eternal,
and the dead seasons and this season here
alive, the sound of it. And so my thought
Drowns in the midst of this immensity:
And sweet it is to shipwreck on this sea.