The Solitary Reaper

by William Wordsworth


Behold her, single in the field,
   Yon solitary Highland Lass !
Reaping and singing by 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 chaunt
   More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
   Among Arabian sands :
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings ? –
   Perhaps the plaintive 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 sorry, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again ?
Whate’er the theme, the maiden sang
   As if her song could have no ending ;
I saw her singing at her work,
   And o’er the sickle bending ; –
I listened, 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 | Classic Poems

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge September 3 ] Daffodils ] The Prelude ] Lucy ] Intimations of immortality ] [ The Solitary Reaper ] The world is too much with us ] My heart leaps up when I behold ] Milton ] Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg ]






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