On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw him first and knew
That his dark hair would weave a snare
That I might one day rue
I saw the danger and 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 worth of passions pledge
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay
But I loved too much, by such and such
Is happiness thrown away

I gave him the gifts of the mind
I gave him the secret sign
That's known all to the artists
Who have known true gods of sound and time
With word and tint I never did stint
I gave him reams of poems to say
With his own name there and his shiny black hair
Like the clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see him walking now
Away from me so hurriedly
My reason must allow
That I had ruled 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