Tuesday, 13 January, 2009

The Solitary Reaper...

Ok, enough of worry my head silly and getting into bad moods. Yesterday had a long chat with Indranil. Conversations with him always make me feel better. So today morning decided that I would shed all negativity from my mental composition and rewrite it positively.
In a bid to cheer myself up posting this ballad by Wordsworth. I love this one. This ballad always has the capacity to cheer me up.
P.S. One worrying thing about me is that I always need external inspirition to cheer up. But then since the reasons of bad mood are also external. So it is ok I guess.
The Solitary Reaper

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 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.

William Wordsworth. (1770–1850)

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