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 ledge
Of a 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 signs
That's known to the artists who have known,
the true gods 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 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 clay,
he'd lose, his wings at the dawn of day