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.
VALLEPIETRA - Abruzzo
22/03/2014
