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 ground
I went to blow the fire a-flame
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
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun

Copyright: Global Talent Publishing
Writer(s): MICHAEL SCOTT, WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS