Apples of the Moon and Sun

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, The Wind Among the Reeds



I need to pick up an anthology of Yeats’ poetry. Borrowed one once from the library, but didn’t give it the justice it deserved.

. . .

There. Just added it to the Acquisitions List.