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 the deep ravine where can be seen
The true worth of passion's pledge
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 artists who have known 
The true gos of sound and stone.
And word and tint without stint
I gave her poems to say
With her own name there
And her own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of Ma

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 the angel woos the play
He's lose his wings at the dawning of the day