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 Went To Blow The Fire A-flame,

But Something Rustled On The Floor,

And Someone 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.