On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare That I may one day rue.
I saw the danger, yet I walked.
Along the enchanted way.
And I said let grief be a falling 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 world of passions pledge.
The Queen of Heart's still baking tarts And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much by such and such, Is happiness thrown away.

I gave her the gifts of the mind;
I gave her the secret sign
That's known to all the artists who have Known true Gods of Sound and Time.
With word and dint I did not stint
I gave her reams of poems to say

With her own dark hair and her own name there,
Like the clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet where old ghosts meet,
I see her walking now
Away from me, so hurriedly
My reason must allow.
For I have wooed not as I should,
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay he’ll lose His wings at the dawn of the day.