Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/15

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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

So sweetly to reposing bands

Of Travellers in some shady haunt,

Among Arabian Sands:

No sweeter voice was ever heard

In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides.