On Raglan Road on an August 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 walked 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 the deep ravine where can be seen the true worth of passion's pledge
The queen of hearts still making tarts and I not making hay
O 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 sign that's known
To the artist who has seen 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 long dark hair like clouds over fields of may
On a quiet street where the 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'd lose his wings at the dawn of day