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 long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
 
                                    William Butler Yeats


 
Sono diventato vecchio viaggiando per vallate e per colline,
ma trovero' alla fine dove e`andata,
bacero' le sue labbra e la prenderò per mano;
cammineremo tra l'erba variegata, sino alla fine dei tempi
coglieremo
le mele d'argento della luna,
le mele d'oro del sole.