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 [chant]
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In springtime 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 sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been or 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
This is surely one of my fav. poems. i still remember the day i first read it. It was in fifth grade. i was looking out of the window, the chill of the autumn sun hypnotised me. Just then our english teacher saw me looking out and asked me to read the whole poem to the class, she knew i didn’t like reading loudly, so at first i was frustrated….annoyed, but as i read through the first few lines i was feeling like i could indeed listen to the voice of cuckoos and the song of the solitary reaper. Such is the power of this poem.
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