| 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 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. |