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 pa**ions 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