Song of Wandering Aengus
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We will pluck til times and times are done, the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun
The Gemstone Line
How does it sound? Why does it work?
The poem
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.
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