Giacomo Leopardi
(1798 – 1837)

The Infinite

This solitary hill has always been dear to me,
And this hedgerow, which closes in the view
So well that one need hardly look upon the west.
But sitting and reflecting, from out of the endless
Expanse of night sky, and the supernatural
Silences and stillness so profound,
My heart, for a moment, no longer fears.
And, like the wind I hear whisper among these leaves,
I hear within that infinite silence a voice:
It overwhelms me with the eternal,
And the seasons passed away, and the present
And living, and with its own sound. Thus within
This immensity my thoughts are drowned…
And it is sweet to be shipwrecked in this sea.