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 day rue. I saw the danger yet I walked 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 passions pledge. The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay. Oh, I loved too much by such, by such is happiness blown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind, I gave her the secret sign that's known to the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone. And word and tint I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her 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 ruled, 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. Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
