Red Apple 7

Red Apple 7

The Song of Wandering Aengus (abridged)

Though I am old with wandering
through hollow lads 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.

by William Butler Yeats

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