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 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’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 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 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  Alternate: Capo III    =    =   =    =