Translation: The Infinite Poem by Robert Dawson

Giacomo Leopardi
THE INFINITE

Dear to me always is this lonely hill
And this thicket which blocks my view
Of swatches of the last horizon.
But as I sit and gaze, my mind perceives
Panoramas on the hidden side, and inhuman
Soundlessness and the stillest possible passivity …
So still my Self is not much short
Of fearful. As a breeze rustles leaves,
I hear both noise and silence in its voice,
And Eternity comes to mind with all
Its dead seasons among this present Fall,
Now living with sounds of itself. In this
Immensity my thoughts are drowned
And to shipwreck is sweet in such a sea.