Raglan Road - Orla Fallon

On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,

I saw her first and knew

That her dark hair would weave a snare

That I may one day rue.

I saw the danger, 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 worst of passions pledged.

The Queen of Hearts still baking tarts

And I not making hay,

Well I loved too much;

by such and such

Is happiness thrown away.

I gave her the gifts of the mind.

I gave her the secret sign

That’s known to all the artists who have

Known true Gods of Sound and Time.

With word and tint I did not stint.

I gave her reams of poems to say

With her own dark hair and her own name there

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,

For I have 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.