Silver Apples of the Moon | Golden Apples of the Sun

My friend Leslie has been doing a feature called poetry week over on her blog. It's been fun to read the different poems from her and from her readers! I decided to share one of my favorite poems and thought it might be fun to post it here too. Just a brief change from my regular posting :-) I'll bold my favorite part of the poem, because it gives me the best imagery - it's like magic!  It's by a poet called WB Yeats who was an Ireland native like my kinsfolk! Enjoy!

The Song of Wandering Aengus

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 aflame,

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 the long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

xo Shannon