It’s always dear to me, this lonely hill,
And this hedgerow that happens to obscure
The whole vista of the far horizon.
But sitting here and watching, through the endless
Spaces beyond, and the unnatural
Quiet and stillness all around me,
I lose myself in my thoughts, and my heart
Almost misses a beat. A breeze rustles
The branches. When I hear it and compare
The sound of that lonely voice to the vast
Surroundings of silence, then I remember
The eternal, the dead seasons, the living
Moment and the murmur it makes, until
My thoughts are drowned out by infinity:
And how sweet it is to be shipwrecked like this.
Translated from the Italian by Peter Jukes