CTET Paper-I English: Questions 192 - 198 of 294
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Behold her, single in the filed,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Along 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 sorrow, loss, or plain,
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 listenend, motionless and still,
And, as I mounted up the hill, ‘
The music in my heart I bore, ‘
Long after it was heart no more.
- William Wordsworth
Question number: 192 (4 of 6 Based on Passage) Show Passage
Question number: 193 (5 of 6 Based on Passage) Show Passage
Question number: 194 (6 of 6 Based on Passage) Show Passage
This child is built to my design
Yet what he loves I cannot share,
Silence surrounds us. I would have
Him prodigal, returning to
His father’s house, the home he knew,
Rather than see him make and move
His world. I would forgive his too,
Shaping from sorrow a new love.
Father and son, we both must live
On the same globe and the same land.
He speaks: I cannot understand
Myself, why anger grows from grief.
We each put out an empty hand.
Longing for something to forgive.