On Raglan Road

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 yet 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 passions pledge.

The Queen of Hearts still making tarts

and I not making hay.

Oh, I loved too much by such, by such

is happiness blown 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

gods 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 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'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.