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.
—“The Song of Wandering Aengus,”
William Butler Yeats
Describe how the poem’s rhythm affects your understanding and appreciation of the poem?