On Raglan Road

On Raglan Road of 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’m 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
Known to the artists who have known
The true gods of sound and stone;
And her words and tint without 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,
And away from me so hurriedly
My reason must allow
That I had loved, 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.