On Raglan Road on an Autumn day
I saw her first and knew,
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might one day rue.
I saw the danger yet I walked
Along the enchanted way.
And I said, "Let grief be a fallen leaf
At the dawning of the day."

On Grafton Street in November,
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worth of passions pledge.
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay.
Oh, I loved too much by such, by such
Is happiness blown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind,
I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true
Gods of sound and stone.
And word and tint I did not stint
For I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her dark hair,
Like clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now,
Away from me so hurriedly.
My reason must allow,
That I had ruled, not as I should.
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay,
He'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.

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