Count Giacomo Leopardi

(29 June 1798 – 14 June 1837 / Rencanati)

Count Giacomo Leopardi Poems

1. Younger Brutus 3/23/2012
2. To The Spring 4/10/2010
3. To The Moon 4/10/2010
4. To The Beloved 4/10/2010
5. To Sylvia 4/10/2010
6. To Italy (1818) 4/10/2010
7. To His Sister Paolina, 4/10/2010
8. To Himself 4/10/2010
9. To Count Carlo Pepoli 4/10/2010
10. To Angelo Mai, 4/10/2010
11. To A Victor In A Game Of Pallone 4/10/2010
12. The Younger Brutus 4/10/2010
13. The Village Saturday Night 4/10/2010
14. The Setting Of The Moon 4/10/2010
15. The Ruling Thought 4/10/2010
16. The Resurrection 4/10/2010
17. The Lonely Sparrow 4/10/2010
18. The Lonely Life 4/10/2010
19. The Last Song Of Sappho 4/10/2010
20. The Infinite 4/10/2010
21. The Ginestra, 4/10/2010
22. The Evening Of The Holiday 4/10/2010
23. The Dream 4/10/2010
24. Scherzo 4/10/2010
25. Recollections 4/10/2010
26. Palinodia 4/10/2010
27. On The Portrait Of A Beautiful Woman, 4/10/2010
28. On Dante's Monument, 1818 4/10/2010
29. On An Old Sepuchral Bas-Relief 4/10/2010
30. Night Song Of A Wandering Shepherd In Asia 4/10/2010
31. Love And Death 4/10/2010
32. L'Infinito 1/1/2004
33. Imitation 4/10/2010
34. Hymn To The Patriarchs 4/10/2010
35. Fragment Ii 4/10/2010
36. Fragment I 4/10/2010
37. First Love 4/10/2010
38. Consalvo 4/10/2010
39. Chorus Of The Dead 4/10/2010
40. Calm After Storm 4/10/2010
Best Poem of Count Giacomo Leopardi

The Infinite

This solitary hill has always been dear to me
And this hedge, which prevents me from seeing most of
The endless horizon.
But when I sit and gaze, I imagine, in my thoughts
Endless spaces beyond the hedge,
An all encompassing silence and a deeply profound quiet,
To the point that my heart is almost overwhelmed.
And when I hear the wind rustling through the trees
I compare its voice to the infinite silence.
And eternity occurs to me, and all the ages past,
And the present time, and its sound.
Amidst this immensity my thought drowns:
And to founder in this sea ...

Read the full of The Infinite

L'Infinito

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle
E questa siepe che da tanta parte
De'l ultimo orrizonte il guarde esclude.
Ma sedendo e mirando interminati
Spazi di la da quella, e sovrumani
Silenzi, e profondissima quiete,
Io nel pensier mi fingo, ove per poco
Il cor non si spaura. E come il vento
Odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello

[Hata Bildir]