This poem really touhes me and reminds me of my mom who work in a field like this solitary reaper. Here the poem Wordsworth writes "Long after it was heard no more" but as for me, every moment of my mom always remained inside me.

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, 5

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 15

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: 20

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 25

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, 30

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

William Wordsworth