I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And out and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread,
And when white moths were on the wing,
And mothlike 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 someone called me by my name.
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossoms in her hair
Who called me by 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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