the north and one in a grave to the south, The Wild 

 grave-wood grew into grave-wood, and green Apple, 

 branches from the north and the south became 

 one overhanging branch, under which the winds 

 murmured of passion that winter-death could 

 not kill nor the hot noons of summer lull into 

 forgetfulness. There is an older and less- 

 known sgeul of how Ana, that most ancient 

 goddess, the Mother, after she had fashioned 

 all the gods, and had made man out of rock 

 and sand and water and the breathing of her 

 breath, made woman out of the body of a 

 wave of the sea and out of foam of apple- 

 blossom and out of the wandering wind. And 

 there are many tales that, in this way or a 

 like way, have in them the mysterious wind 

 of the wild - apple, many poems on whose 

 shadowy waters float the rose-flusht snow of 

 the scattered blossoms of dreams and desires. 

 Was not the apple - blossom first stained 

 through the inappeasable longing of a poet- 

 king, who, yet living, had reached Y Breasil ? 

 Ulad saw there a garth of white blossom, and 

 of this he gathered, and warmed all night 

 against his breast, and at dawn breathed into 

 them. When the sunbreak slid a rising line 

 along the dawn he saw that what had been 

 white blooms, made warm by his breath and 

 flusht by the beating of his heart, was a 

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