On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I would someday 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 would walk 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
And I loved too much and by such, by such
Is happiness thrown away
I gave her the gifts of mind
I gave her the secret sign
That's known to all the artists who have known
True gods of sound and tone
And word and tint I never did stint
I gave her poems to say
With her own name there and her long dark hair
Like clouds o'er the 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 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 day
On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might someday rue
Words & Music : Patrick Kavanagh
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I would someday 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 would walk 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
And I loved too much and by such, by such
Is happiness thrown away
I gave her the gifts of mind
I gave her the secret sign
That's known to all the artists who have known
True gods of sound and tone
And word and tint I never did stint
I gave her poems to say
With her own name there and her long dark hair
Like clouds o'er the 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 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 day
On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might someday rue
Words & Music : Patrick Kavanagh