Saturday, April 2, 2011

The Infinite

From the Italian of Count Giacomo Leopardi

This lonely hill was always dear to me,
With hedge that blocked from view the final sun.
I’d stare at endless space and never see
A vestige of this place I knew as human

Just silence, just a quiet so profound
I’d pretend to be in thought so that my heart
Would not be scared. And as the wind
Came rustling through the trees, I came apart,

Became the boundless silence to its voice,
Became the infinite, a single mind
That heard dead seasons turn their memories loose
To make a new life singular in sound.

My thoughts drown in this vast immensity:
How sweet to be the shipwrecked in this sea.