The Story of Wandering Aegnus by W.B.Yeats

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.

Harboured.

Oh God,
Why is my heart,
Once a lively young thing,
Sullen for others;
Those I once may have danced with.

Anger,
It swells,
A flood, an ocean,
An expanse of emotion,
Once lapping at the feet,
Now a tidal wave engulfing what used to be
Patience.

He is trying,
And she echoes me,
Why can't he see?
These fakeries irritate
They build, and I let them
Till they topple and fall,
Pour out of the sky,
Into the rest.

This isn't like me,
Love.
Was never hard,
Was never far,
Was never something I had to dig deep for.

And then Him.
He doesn't know,
But He's learning.
Happiness and Peace,
A blessing without knowing.
How, amongst these clean Christian folk,
Can judgment burble
And frowns come my way.

I'm protective,
A little shipwreck,
Harboured.