W.B. Yeats
I went down to the Hazelwood
Because a fire was in my head
I 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 put the berry in a stream
And hooked a little silver trout
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame
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 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 kiss her lips and hold 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.