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


  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.

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

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

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


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