Saturday, April 23, 2011

The Solitary Reaper

A voice so thrilling ne'er heard
In spring time from cuckoo-bird
Breaking the silence of the seas
Amoung 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 motre humble lay
Familier matter of to-day?
Same 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 sticle 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
- William Wordsworth

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