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 [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 the worth of passion play
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 I without a 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 I had loved not as I should a creature made of clay 
When the angel woos the clay He'd lose his wings at the dawn of day