Always dear was for me this lonely hill
and this hedge, that for a long tract
excludes the view of the last horizon.
But sitting and watching, unlimited
spaces through it, and superhuman
silences, and very deep quiet
I realize in my mind, where the heart
is nearly to be afraid. And as I hear
the wind rustling between these trees,
I am comparing that endless silence
to this voice: and occurs to me the eternal,
and the dead seasons, and the present
and alive one, and its sound. So among this
immensity my mind drowns itself
and to be wrecked in this sea is sweet for me.