Wordsworth read by Classic Poetry Aloud:

http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com/

Giving voice to the poetry of the past.

---------------------------------------------

The Reaper

by William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)

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 grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;

O listen! for a vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chant

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travellers in some shady haunt

Among Arabian sands;

No sweeter voice was ever heard

In springtime from the cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among 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 more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some 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 sickle bending;—

I listen’d till I had my fill;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore

Long after it was heard no more.