| I went out to the hazel wood,
|
| Because a fire was in my head,
|
| And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
|
| And hooked a berry to a thread;
|
| And when white moths were on the wing,
|
| And moth-like stars were flickering out,
|
| I dropped the berry in a stream
|
| And caught a little silver trout.
|
| When I had laid it on the floor
|
| I went to blow the fire a-flame,
|
| But something rustled on the floor,
|
| And some one called me by my name:
|
| It had become a glimmering girl
|
| With apple blossom in her hair
|
| Who called me by my name and ran
|
| And faded through the brightening air.
|
| Though I am old with wandering
|
| Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
|
| I will find out where she has gone,
|
| And kiss her lips and take her hands;
|
| And walk among long dappled grass,
|
| And pluck till time and times are done
|
| The silver apples of the moon,
|
| The golden apples of the sun |