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 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.