Always dear to me was this lonely hill,
And this hedge, which from so great a part
Of the farthest horizon excludes the view.
But sitting and gazing, boundless spaces
Beyond it, and superhuman silences,
And the deepest quiet I imagine in thought;
Where the heart is almost overwhelmed with fear.
And as I hear the wind rustle through these plants,
I compare that infinite silence with this voice:
And the eternal comes to mind,
And the dead seasons, and the present,
And the living one, and its sound.
So in this immensity my thought is drowned:
And to shipwreck in this sea is sweet to me.
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