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 a deep ravine where can be seen
The true worth of passion's play
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay
Oh, I loved 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 artist who has known
The true God 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 own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where the 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'll lose his wings at the dawn of day