William Butler Yeats
The Golden Apples of the Sun
I went into the hazel wood
Because a fire was in my head
And cut and peeled a hazel wand
And tied a berry to a thread
And when white moths were on the wing
And moth-like stars were flickering out
I threw the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout

And when I laid it on the ground
And gone to blow the fire aflame
Then 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 my name and ran
And vanished in the brightening air

Though I am old from wandering
In quiet lands and hilly lands
I will find out where she has gone
And know her mouth and take her hands
And walk along green dappled grass
And pluck till time and time is done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun