Raglan Road
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 and I passed,
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 lay of
A deep ravine where can be seen
The worth of passions play.
The queen of hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay.
Oh, I love too much and by 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 words and tint I did not stint,
I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her long 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 that angel woos the clay he'll lose,
His wings at the dawn of day.
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