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 the stream and caught, 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 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...
Now I am old. Now I am old with wandering through hollow lands and hilly lands
I will find out where she went and kiss her lips
and take her hands
and walk through long and dappled grass, and pluck
till time and times are done,
the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun...