The Solitary Reaper by William Wordsworth

Original Poem 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 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. 

Summary

The poet orders the listener to listen carefully the solitary girl reaping and singing in a field. He says that anyone passing by should either stop here, or gently pass so as not to disturb her. As she cuts and binds the grain she sings a sad song, and the valley is filled with the beautiful, sad sound. The speaker says that the sound is more welcome than any song of the nightingale to tired travellers in the desert, and that the cuckoo-bird in spring never sang with a voice so thrilling. The song of cuckoo bird breaks the silence of the sea.

The poet asks, “Will anyone tell me what she sings?” He thinks that her song might be about some old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago, or that it might be about some relatives who lost their lives, or a simple song about matter of today.
Whatever she sings about, he says, he listened motionless and still, and as he travelled up the hill, he carried her song with him in his heart long after he could no longer hear it. 
The song of the girl is present in the heart of the poet forever.

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