always been dear to me was this hill,
And this hedge, which has so much
the ultimate horizon prevents me.
But as I sit and gaze,
boundless spaces beyond that, and superhuman
silences, and deepest quiet in
I thought I pretend, if just for
heart is overwhelmed. And like the wind
hear rustling through the trees, I
that infinite silence to this voice
comparing Vo: and I am reminded of the eternal,
And the dead seasons, and this
is alive, and the sound of it. So in this
immensity my thought is drowned:
And the shipwrecked 'sweet in this sea.
View from the house of Pistis, Sardinia
; by Manuela Raganati
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