Thursday, October 23, 2008

by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

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 shrilling 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 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 listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more

turn the page...

Life has given me opportunities time and again, to start things anew..which means to start things from the scratch...
jus when everything falls into place, its time to collect the fragments and leave...
jus when you get a feeling of 'belonging', its time to wrap up..pack bags..n get lost somewher els..
jus when people start recognising you and start seeing your potential, you hav to bid them bye..
jus when people you never spoke to, smile and start talking to you, you tel dem its your last day..
jus when you actually start 'getting along' need to move on...

Thats how my life has been....:-)
hav changed about 9 schools in al...n still 'movin on....'