Day 83: Hazel Wood

It feels real Autumnal all of a sudden. Time for woodland walks. And for Yeats. 

Yes, that grand master of poetry, mystical and lyrical and romantic. 

I'm always reminded of The Song of Wandering Aengus at this time of year. Who can forget those beautiful last lines, 'the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun' and all the silver and gold beauty of Autumn around us?

The Song of Wandering Aengus - 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 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.