|
I wish out to the hazel wood |
|
Because a fire was in my head |
|
And I cut and peeled a hazel wand |
|
And hooked a berry with a thread |
|
And when white moths were on the wing |
|
And moth-like stars were flickering out |
|
I dropped a 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 door |
|
And someone called me by by name. |
|
It had become a glimmering girl |
|
With apple blossoms 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 |
