| I went out to the hazelwood
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| Because a fire was in my head
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| Cut and peeled a hazel wand
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| And hooked a berry to a thread
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| And when white moths were on the wing
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| And moth-like stars were flickering out
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| I dropped the berry in a stream
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| And caught a little silver trout
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| When I had laid it on the ground
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| And gone to blow the fire aflame
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| Something rustled on the floor
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| And someone called me by my name
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| It had become a glimmering girl
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| With apple blossom in her hair
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| Who called me by my name and ran
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| And vanished in the brightening air
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| Though I am old with wandering
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| Through hollow lands and hilly lands
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| I will find out where she has gone
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| And see her lips and take her hand
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| And walk through long green dappled grass
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| And pluck till time and times are done
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| The silver apples of the moon
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| The golden apples of the sun |