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.