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 aflame,
-
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 my 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. |
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