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 aflam

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 wanderin

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 whQIl7oVYyK4+5I2N546QBoCsk3OOGsg5ECn7RZ4xCZVrbyPACvMdFQ0WX1HEDJA