The Song of Wandering Aengus: W.B. Yeats

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 someone 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.

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)