A piece of whimsy here from WB Yeats, which looks like it is inspired by folk tales and old country traditions. It is the tale of a man who went fishing in a wood, where there was a stream, he catches a trout, the trout turns into a beautiful girl, the girl runs away, and then the poor fellow spends the rest of his life looking for her.
I have never seen the name Angus spelled like this anywhere else, perhaps it is an Irish variant.
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 a-flame,
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.
Source: The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)
Perhaps not WB Yeats’s finest hour?
The Poetry Dude