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 may one day rue.
I saw the danger, and yet I passed
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 tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worth of passions pledged.
The queen of hearts still making tarts
And I’m not making hay,
Oh I love too much and by such by such
Is happiness thrown away.

I gave her the gifts of the mind.
I gave her the secret sign
That’s known to all the artists who have
Known true gods of sound and stone.
With word and tint I did not stint
I gave her poems to say
With her own name there
And her own dark hair
Like the 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 have 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 the day.

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