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,
A moth-like stars were flicheing out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a silver trout.
When I laid it on the floor
I turned to blow the fire a flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossoms in her hair.
Who called me by my name and ran
And fadded away through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wanderings
Through hallow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among the dappled grass,
And pluck till time and time are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
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