Poetry

The Solitary Reaper By 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 grains,
And sing a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with sound

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome note to weary bands 
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands 
A voice so thrilling never was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides