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 Yet I was 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 worst of passions pledged The 'Queen of Hearts' still baking tarts And I not making hay Well, I love 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 artists who have known True gods of sound and tine With word and tint I did not stint I gave her poems to say With her own dark hair and her own name there 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 For I have would 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