The Solitary Reaper (口白)

The Solitary Reaper

--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 sorrow, 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 listen'd, motionless and still

And, as I mounted up the hill

The music in my heart I bore

Long after it was heard no more