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 did not 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 had I 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