Poetry often transcends mere prosaic meaning, as this dreamlike tale by W B Yeats proves. Perhaps it talks of inspiration itself; but even if not, the last two lines roll off the tongue with a touch of magic. It was Carol Anne Duffy’s choice for the anthology Poems that Make Grown Women Cry (Simon and Schuster, £9.99).

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

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 someone 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.