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 dipped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the ground
And stooped to blow the fire a-flame,
Something rustled in the leaves,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glittering girl
With apple blossoms in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And vanished in the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And see her face and take her hands;
And walk through long, green dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.