Today, sitting beneath a tree, I was able to perceive that magical sensation of Life that permeates creation: everything was perfect.

The breeze of the French hills, the birds singing, the dog sniffing the grass, and the sun warming me with its rays.

And in moments like these, you remember who you are.

The Infinite

Always dear to me was this solitary hill,

and this hedge, which from so large a part

of the farthest horizon excludes the gaze.

But sitting and gazing, I imagine

interminable spaces beyond it,

and superhuman silences,

and deepest quiet;

so that the heart almost grows afraid.

And as I hear

the wind rustling through these trees,

I compare that infinite silence

to this voice; and I recall the eternal,

and the dead seasons, and the present

and living one, and its sound.

So in this immensity

my thought is drowned:

and shipwreck is sweet to me

in this sea.

Excerpt from “The Infinite” by Giacomo Leopardi (1819), English translation by Henry Reed.