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 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 Among Long Dappled Grass, And Pluck Till Time And Times Are Done, The Silver Apples Of The Moon, The Golden Apples Of The Sun.