名人诗歌|孤独的割麦女

The Solitary^{1 Reper}

Behold^{2 Her， single in the field，}

Yon solitary Highland^{3 Lass！}

Reaping and singing by herself；

STOP here， or gently pass！

Alone she cuts and binds^{4 the grain，}

And sings a melancholy^{5 strain；}

O listen！ For the vale profound

Is overflowing^{6 with the sound.}

No nightingale did ever chaunt

More welcome notes to weary bands

Of travelers in some shady haunt，

Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings？

Perhaps the plaintive^{7 numbers flow}

For old， unhappy， far-off things，

And battles long ago；

Or is it some more humble^{8 lay，}

Familiar matter of to-day？

Some natural sorrow， loss， or pain，

That has been， and may be again？

Whateer the theme， the maiden^{9 sang}

As if her song could have no ending；

I saw her singing at her work，

And oer the sickle^{10 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.