Always this dear hill was I,
And this hedge, which is so much a part
Of the last horizon the look excludes.
But sitting and aiming, interminable
Spaces beyond that, and superhuman
Silences, and profound quietness
I pretend in the thought; where for a while
The heart is not frightened. And like the wind
I hear it fluttering between these plants, I that
Infinite silence in this voice
I am comparing: and I remember the eternal,
And the seasons deaths, and the present
And alive, and the sound of her. So between this
Immensity my mind drowns:
And the shipwreck is sweet to me in this sea.