poetry 11

THE SOLITARY REAPER
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Be hold 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 over chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travelers in some shady haunt 
Among Arabian sands
A voiced so thrilling ne'er was heard 
In spring time from the cuckoo bird 
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest he brides
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 say
Familiar matter of today
Some natural sorrow loss or pain
That has been and may be again
What the theme the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending
I saw her singing at her work
And the sickle bending
I listen motion less and still 
And as i mounted up the hill
The music in my heart i bore
Long after it was heard no more........