Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/16

8 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 till I had my fill:

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.