The Silver Apples Of The Moon

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.

– “The Song of Wandering Aengus” by William Butler Yeats

Where’er we go, we cannot leave
Those who have left us first;
The hunger in the dwindled heart,
The message in the thirst
For wine in bottles old and new,
The longing without slaking:
The silver apples of the moon
No longer there for taking.

There’s agelessness in reticence,
And no appointed hour
For magic tolls to peal again
Or summer buds to flower.
For as the otter in the sea
May play its best while hidden,
The silver apples of the moon
Only appear

Author: Sibelius Russell

Sibelius Russell (a/k/a/ Owen "Beleaguered" Servant) lives a life of whimsical servitude -- whatever that means.

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