On raglan road on an autumn day I saw him 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 worth of passions play
The queen of hearts still making tarts and I not making hay
But I loved too much by such and such is happiness thrown away

I gave him the gifts of the mind I gave him the secret sign
That's known to the artists who have known true gods of sound and time
With word and tint I never did stint I gave him reams of poems to say
With his own name there and his shiny black hair like the clouds over fields of may

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see him walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had 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