|The Infinite by Geoffrey L. Bickersteth, 1923
Always dear to me was this lonely hill,
Ay, and this hedge that from so broad a sweep
Of the ultimate horizon screens the view.
But, as I sit and gaze, my fancy feigns
Space beyond space upon the further side,
And silence within silence past all thought,
Immeasurable calm; whereat well nigh
Groweth the heart afraid. And as I hear
The wind sough thro’ these thickets, then between
That everlasting silence and this voice
I make comparison; and call to mind
The Eternal, and the ages dead, and this
The living present, and its clamour. So
In this immensity my thought is drowned:
And sweet to me is shipwreck in this sea.