THE SOLITARY REAPER
behold her, single in the field,
yon solitary highland lass!
reaping and singing herself;
stop here, or gently pass!
alone she cuts and binds the grain
and sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chant
more welcome notes to weary bands
of travelers in some shady haunt,
among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
in spring-time from the cuckoo-bird
breaking the slience of the seas
among the farthest Hebrides.
will no one tell me what she sings?
perhaps the planintive numbers flow
for old, unhappy, far-off things,
and battles long ago:
or is it some more humble lay,
familiar matter of to-day?
some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
that has been, and may be again?
whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
as if her songs could have no ending;
i saw her singing at her work,
and o'er the sickle bending;
i listen'd, the motionless and still;
and, as i mounted up the hill
the music in my heart i bore,
long after it was heard no more.
- william wordsworth
---
tis is a poem i found in a stack of ol newspaper.. hm.. bout a reaper.. =)
Labels: misc
