THE SOLITARY REAPER
I'm irresistibly reminded of a poem I learned in school:

Behold her single in the field
Yon solitary highland lass,
Reaping and singing as she bends,
Stop here or gently pass.
Alone she cuts and binds the grain
And sings a solitary strain,
Oh, listen, for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
Of old unhappy far-off things
And battles long ago.
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of today?

Whate'er it was the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending,
I watched her singing at her work
While 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.

Can't remember the poet at the moment but I think I know how he felt.

HTML line breaks added --JoeClone, 2-Dec-01.