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.