W.B. Yeats was obsessed. Not just with poetry, but with the idea that the world we see is a thin veil over something much older and stranger. In 1899, he published The Wind Among the Reeds, and tucked inside was a poem that would eventually become a folk song, a tattoo, and a cornerstone of Irish mysticism. People call it The Song of Wandering Aengus. On the surface, it’s just a guy going fishing. He catches a trout, it turns into a "glimmering girl," and he spends the rest of his life looking for her.
But if you think it's just a fairy tale, you’re missing the point entirely.
Yeats didn't just pull this out of thin air. He was deeply enmeshed in the Irish Literary Revival, trying to pull Ireland away from British cultural dominance by digging up the bones of its mythology. He was also, quite famously, pining for Maud Gonne, a woman who basically treated his heart like a chew toy for decades. When you read about Aengus wandering the "hollow lands and hilly lands," you aren't just reading about a Celtic god. You're reading about the human condition of wanting something you can't quite grasp.
The Myth Behind the Magic
To understand The Song of Wandering Aengus, you have to know who Aengus actually was. In Irish mythology, Aengus Og is the god of love, youth, and poetic inspiration. He lived at Newgrange (Brú na Bóinne), that massive prehistoric monument in County Meath. Legend says he fell in love with a girl he saw in a dream, Caer Ibormeith. He searched all of Ireland for her, eventually finding her at Lake of the Dragon's Mouth, where she had been turned into a swan.
Yeats flips the script.
Instead of a dream-vision, Yeats gives us a physical act: fishing. "I went out to the hazel wood, / Because a fire was in my head." That "fire" is key. It’s not just a headache; it’s a fever of the soul. In Celtic lore, hazel trees are the source of wisdom. By cutting a hazel wand, Aengus isn't just making a fishing pole. He’s performing a ritual.
The trout he catches isn't just a fish, either. It’s a "little silver trout" that transforms into a "glimmering girl / With apple blossom in her hair." This is where the poem shifts from a quiet nature walk into something psychedelic. It’s a moment of metamorphosis. One second you have a mundane reality—a fish on the floor—and the next, you have a divine encounter that ruins your life in the best and worst ways possible.
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Why the "Glimmering Girl" Matters
Why did she run? She called him by his name and then vanished "through the brightening air." This is the core of the The Song of Wandering Aengus. It’s the "Aha!" moment followed immediately by the "Where did it go?"
Scholars like Richard Ellmann have pointed out that Yeats used these symbols to represent the elusive nature of beauty and truth. If Aengus caught the girl and they lived happily ever after, the poem would be boring. It would be a Hallmark card. Instead, he becomes "old with wandering."
There is a specific kind of loneliness in this poem. It’s the loneliness of someone who has seen the "Otherworld" and can no longer be satisfied with the regular one. He’s spent his entire life—his youth, his strength—chasing a memory. Honestly, it’s kind of tragic. But Yeats doesn't write it as a tragedy. He writes it as a quest.
The Symbolism of the Apples
The end of the poem is the most famous part. Aengus vows to find her and "pluck till time and times are done, / The silver apples of the moon, / The golden apples of the sun."
These aren't just pretty colors.
- The Moon (Silver): This usually represents the feminine, the intuitive, the subconscious, and the fleeting.
- The Sun (Gold): This represents the masculine, the rational, the eternal, and the physical.
By aiming for both, Aengus is looking for a total union of opposites. He’s looking for a state of being where the physical and the spiritual are the same thing. It’s a very Hermetic idea—Yeats was a member of the Golden Dawn, a secret magical society, so this wasn't just flowery language. It was his philosophy. He believed that the ultimate goal of the soul was to reconcile these two forces.
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The Rhythm of the Wandering
If you read the poem aloud, you’ll notice it has a very specific "walking" pace. It’s written in iambic tetrameter. Short, steady beats.
I went / out to / the ha / zel wood
It feels like a heartbeat. Or footsteps. It mimics the act of wandering itself. This is why it translates so perfectly to music. Musicians like Christy Moore, Donovan, and The Waterboys have all tackled it. When you hear Donovan’s 1960s folk version, it sounds like a daydream. When you hear Judy Collins or the more modern choral arrangements, it sounds like a prayer.
The poem survives because it doesn't try too hard. It’s simple. It’s basically three stanzas of eight lines. But within those 24 lines, Yeats captures the entire arc of a human life: the impulsive fire of youth, the labor of middle age, and the visionary hope of old age.
Common Misconceptions About Aengus
People often confuse this version of Aengus with the purely mythological one. In the old stories, Aengus is a bit of a trickster. He’s clever. He manages to trick his father, the Dagda, out of his home at Newgrange.
But Yeats’ The Song of Wandering Aengus is much more vulnerable.
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This Aengus is a seeker, not a conqueror. Another big mistake people make is thinking the poem is just about romantic love. Sure, Yeats was obsessed with Maud Gonne, but he was also obsessed with the "Unity of Being." He felt that modern life was fragmented and cold. He wanted to get back to a world where a fish could turn into a girl and where the stars were something you could reach out and pluck. It’s a protest against the industrial, boring world.
How to Connect with the Poem Today
You don't need to be a literature professor to get something out of this. If you’ve ever felt like you were meant for something more, or if you’ve ever lost something precious and spent way too long trying to get it back, you are Aengus.
The poem suggests that the "wandering" isn't a waste of time. Even though Aengus is "old with wandering," he hasn't given up. He’s still going. He still believes in the "glimmering girl." There’s a weirdly optimistic persistence in that. It says that the search for beauty is worth your entire life, even if you never quite catch it.
Practical Ways to Explore Yeats' World
If you want to actually feel the vibe of The Song of Wandering Aengus, you have to get out of the house.
- Visit a Hazel Wood: If you’re ever in Sligo, Ireland, go to the shores of Lough Gill. This is Yeats country. The woods there actually feel like they’re hiding something.
- Listen to the Versions: Don't just read it. Listen to The Waterboys’ version from An Appointment with Mr. Yeats. It’s driving, rock-infused, and captures the "fire in the head" perfectly. Then listen to the more traditional folk versions to see how the meaning shifts with the tempo.
- Read the Source Material: Pick up Lady Gregory’s Gods and Fighting Men. She was Yeats’ close friend and collaborator. She’s the one who translated many of these old Irish myths from the original Middle Irish, and her "Kiltartan" style of English heavily influenced how Yeats wrote this poem.
A Legacy That Won't Quit
There’s a reason this poem shows up in movies and songs 125 years after it was written. It taps into a very specific Irish concept called hiraeth (though that's Welsh, the Irish equivalent cianalas fits better)—a deep longing for a home or a person that maybe never existed.
The The Song of Wandering Aengus reminds us that the world is more than what we see on our phone screens. It’s a reminder that there is magic in the "brightening air" if we’re willing to go out into the wood and look for it.
The story ends on a high note, even if it’s a distant one. Aengus isn't dead. He’s still out there. He’s still walking. And he’s still looking for those silver and golden apples. It’s an invitation for us to keep wandering, too.
Next Steps for Deepening Your Understanding:
- Compare "The Stolen Child" with "Aengus": Read Yeats' earlier poem, "The Stolen Child." Both deal with the intersection of the human world and the faerie world, but notice how much more grounded and "human" Aengus feels despite the magic.
- Explore the Artwork: Look up the illustrations by Pamela Colman Smith (who also designed the Rider-Waite tarot deck). She worked closely with Yeats and captured the "glimmering" aesthetic of his poetry better than almost anyone else.
- Trace the Folklore: Research the "Leannan Sídhe," the fairy lover of Irish myth. She gave poets inspiration but took their lives in return. It adds a darker, more dangerous layer to the "glimmering girl" Aengus is chasing.