On Raglan Road, on an autumn day I saw her first anew That her dark hair would weave a snare That I might one day rue I saw the danger, yet I passed along the enchanted way And I said, let grief be her fallen leave 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 worth of passion's pledge The queen of hearts still making tarts And I not making hay Oh, 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 The true gods of sound and stone And word and tint without stint For I gave her poems to sing 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 I had love not as I should A creature made of clay When the angel moves, the clay he deludes His wings at the dawn of the day