I went out 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 dropped the berry in a stream,
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor,
And gone to blow the fire aflame,
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 through long green appled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The Silver Apples of the Moon,
The Golden Apples of the Sun.