The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review
littlereview

Poem for Saturday


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 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 shrilling 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 listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

--------

Killer migraine. I hate everyone and everything right now. Report on day: discovered we can't get Bar Mitzvah souvenirs from vendor in time, scrambled to find new vendor, ran too late to go to lunch with gblvr. Wrote Next Gen review, which may not be coherent since I could barely see to type it: "Redemption, Part Two". Went to son's spring chorus/guitar ensemble concert:













</center>

Had nice evening with my parents and in-laws though will probably bleed out from an ulcer from six Advil taken in four hours to circumvent $9-a-pill Imitrex. Declaring that battle lost, taking pill. Want the storm to get here already, even if it means rain all weekend, so my brain barometer can go down. Night.
Subscribe

  • Poem for Wednesday and Great Falls Cardinals

    The Bird Her Punctual Music Brings By Emily Dickinson The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place— Its place is in the Human…

  • Poem for Tuesday and Carderock

    A wounded Deer – leaps highest – By Emily Dickinson A wounded Deer – leaps highest – I've heard the Hunter tell – 'Tis but the ecstasy of death…

  • Poem for Monday and Great Falls Sunday

    The Daisy Follows Soft The Sun By Emily Dickinson The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet—…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 0 comments