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 turned to blow the fire aflame,
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.