Raglan Road

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 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 ledge,
Of the deep ravine where can be seen,
The 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,
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 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.