Poetry Mondays–The Song of the Wandering Aengus

Following whimsy and subject to spontaneity like i am–i declare today  “POETRY MONDAY”.  this yeats poem keeps turning up like shiny new dime to be reconsidered and examined. with gaze intrigued, i discover the power of a celtic and druidic return to mystic images unfolding and revealing itself to me in these words.  funny how we experience things on one level, and they become brand new when our eyes are opened on a new level of awareness.
i am grateful for a conscious look at all the symbols that are offering their wisdom to those who seek.

what images are revealed to you?

The Song of Wandering Aengus
By William Butler 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.

To Consider: Love and its thousand transformations, and the pursuit of the Beloved, that holy one who calls me by my name. Over and over again.