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 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. Well I loved too much; by such and such. Is happiness thrown away.. I gave her the gifts of the mind.. I gave her the secret sign. That's known to all the artists who have. Known true Gods of Sound and Time.. With word and tint I did not stint.. I gave her reams of poems to say. With her own dark hair and her own name there. Like the 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 wooed not as I should. A creature made of clay.. When the angel woos the clay he'll lose. His wings at the dawn of the day..