On Raglan Road of 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, and 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 the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
Oh I loved too much and such by such is happiness thrown 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 without stint for I gave her poems to say
With her own name there and her own 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 loved not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawning of the day
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