On Raglan Road on an Autumn dayÂ
I saw her first and knew,Â
that her dark hair would weave a snareÂ
that I might one day rue.Â
I saw the danger yet I walkedÂ
along the enchanted way.Â
And I said, "Let grief be a fallen leafÂ
at the dawning of the day."Â
On Grafton Street in November,Â
we tripped lightly along the ledgeÂ
of a deep ravine where can be seenÂ
the worth of passions pledge.Â
The Queen of Hearts still making tartsÂ
and I not making hay.Â
Oh, I loved too much by such, by suchÂ
is happiness blown away.Â
I gave her gifts of the mind,Â
I gave her the secret sign that's knownÂ
to the artists who have known the trueÂ
gods of sound and stone.Â
And word and tint I did not stintÂ
for I gave her poems to say.Â
With her own name there and her dark hair,Â
like clouds over fields of May.Â
On a quiet street where old ghosts meetÂ
I see her walking now,Â
away from me so hurriedly.Â
My reason must allow,Â
that I had ruled, not as I should.Â
A creature made of clay.Â
When the angel woos the clay,Â
he'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.
