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 day rue. I saw the danger, and I passed 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 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 sign That's known to the artists who have known That true gods of sound and stone. And word and tint without stint. I gave her poems to say With her own name there and her own dark hair 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, That I have loved, 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.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
