Explore "The Solitary Reaper" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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 the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chaunt / More welcome notes to weary bands / Of travellers in some shady haunt, / Among Arabian sands: / A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard / In spring-time 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 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.