WILLIAM WORDSWORTH    

The Solitary Reaper

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

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:

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorry, 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, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

                                1803

FERNANDO PESSOA

(translated from the Portuguese by Richard Zenith)

The Reaper

She sings, poor reaper, believing

She's happy perhaps.  She sings,

She reaps, and her voice, full

Of widowed, glad anonymity,

Wavers like the song of a bird

In the air as clean as a doorstep,

And there are curves in the soft tissue

Of the sound her song is weaving.

Hearing her cheers and saddens,

The field and its toil are her voice,

And she sings as if she had

More reasons than life for singing.

Ah, sing, sing for no reason!

In me what feels is always

Thinking.  Pour into my heart

Your waving, uncertain voice!

Ah, to be you while being I!

To have your glad unconsciousness

And be conscious of it!  O sky!

O field!  O song!  Knowledge

Is so heavy and life so brief!

Enter inside me!  Make

My soul your weightless shadow!

And take me with you, away!

                                    1914

Please join us in a discussion of these poems with

Portugese Poet and DLCL Writer in Residence, Daniel Jonas

Friday, April 9th, 2010

4.30 - 5.30 pm, Main Lounge of Florence Moore Hall