On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I would someday rue

I saw the danger, 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 walked 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
And I loved too much and by such and such
Is happiness thrown away

I gave her the gifts of the mind
I gave her a secret sign
That's known to all the artists
Who have known true gods of sound and tome

And word and tint I never did stint
I gave him reams of poems to say
With her own name there and long, dark hair
Like the clouds o'er 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 wooed 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

On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might someday rue

I saw the danger, yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said, "Let grief be a falling leaf
At the dawning of the day."