And pluck Till time and times are done the silver applesof the moon The golden apples of the sun

W.B. Yeats

The poem is called

The Song of Wandering Aengus

This is the last stanza


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