The Solitary Reaper

Behold her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass!

Will no one tell me what she sings? —

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago…

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.