Tuesday, March 16, 2010

A Week of the Irish. The Song of Wandering Aengus.


by: W.B. Yeats


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.

please note: art by Kelly Fearing

4 comments:

  1. Another gorgeous poem. PS The Hubs and I watch these animated hospital humor flicks together (like the one you posted) and he can barely contain himself.

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  2. Beautiful poem, Happy Saint Patrick's day everyone!

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  3. I've always loved this poem (but I'm a Yeats freak). Thanks for posting it. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

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  4. Lovely poem. It goes great with the sad imagery, thanks.

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)