Raglan Road

On raglan road on an autumn day,

I saw he first and knew

That his dark hair would weave a snare

That i might one day rue.

I saw the danger and yet i walked

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,

For i loved too much; by such and such

Is happiness thrown away.

I gave he the gifts of the mind.

I gave he the secret sign

Thats known to all the artists who have

Known true gods of sound and time.

With word and tint i did not stint.

I gave he reams of poems to say

With his own dark hair and his own name there

Like the clouds over fields of may.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet,

I see he walking now away from me,

So hurriedly. my reason must allow,

For i have wooed, not as i should

A creature made of clay.

When the angel woos the clay, hell lose

His wings at the dawn of the day.