On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might one [bad word] 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
Song text taken from [bad word] The worth of passion's pledge
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I 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
That's known to the artists who have known
The [bad word] gods of sound and stone
And word and tint did not 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
Away from me so hurriedly
My reason must allow
That had I loved not as I should
creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay
He'd lose his wings at the dawn of day