I did a lot of things this weekend, and one of them was practice my Italian.

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,

E questa siepe, che da tanta parte

Dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.

Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati

Spazi di là 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

Infinito silenzio a questa voce

Vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,

E le morte stagioni, e la presente

E viva, e il suon di lei. Cosi tra questa

Immensita s'annega il pensier mio:

E il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.

Giacomo Leopardi, "L'infinito" 

I only understood about half of this, and had to look it up in English. I like to think I'm pretty top notch, though, reading it out loud in my terrible accent. You were almost impressed, weren't you? 

Always dear to me was this lonely hill,

And this hedge, which from me so great a part

Of the farthest horizon excludes the gaze.

But as I sit and watch, I invent in my mind

endless spaces beyond, and superhuman

silences, and profoundest quiet;

wherefore my heart

almost loses itself in fear. And as I hear wind

rustle through these plants, I compare

that infinite silence to this voice:

and I recall to mind eternity,

And the dead seasons, and the one present

And alive, and the sound of it. So in this

Immensity my thinking drowns:

And to shipwreck is sweet for me in this sea.

Translated in very broken English, just how it should be. Anyway, I printed out the manuscript and posted it next to Tia's postcard from Cinque Terre. I'll probably have it memorized by the end of the month.