The golden apples of the sun

WB Yeats 1908Stumbled across this old W. B. Yeats poem in the weirdest of places (a sci-fi show). The mention of this poem interested me enough that I looked the poem up and it meant a lot to me. Wish I could write like this.

Anyway, thought I would quote it here so I won’t forget it.
 
 
 

The Song of Wandering Aengus by: W.B. Yeats

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 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.

From An Anthology of Modern Verse.
Ed. A. Methuen. London: Methuen & Co., 1921.

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