February 27, 2009

Poetry Friday: The Song of Wandering Aengus

















      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.

    --W. B. Yeats
    from The Wind Among the Reeds




Check out today's Poetry Friday, hosted here:
Thanks, Karen!

2 comments:

Kelly Fineman said...

I adore this poem. The last two lines "The silver apples of the moon/The golden apples of the sun" in particular.

I read this one at least half a dozen times earlier this week as I sorted out how to write a poem of my own. Gotta love Yeats.

Kelly said...

I like the rhythm of this Yeats poem!