This is ONE poem, one of my favourites from school days. THE SOLITARY REAPER by William Wordsworth 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 10 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: ...
This blog born on 30th of November, 2004, at the stroke of midnight, is primarily to cater to my urges of jotting down whatever I feel record-able and worthy reminiscing. Life involves a lots of experiments and calculated risks, just like in a laboratory. This much, for the nomenclature...