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Raglan Road (Patrick Kavanagh) On Raglan Road of an Autumn day I saw her first and knew, That her dark hair would weave a snare That I might someday 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 play. The Queen of Hearts still making tarts And I not making hay; Oh, I loved too much and by such and 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 her words 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, And 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'll lose His wings at the dawn of day. From Folk Songs and Ballads Popular in Ireland, Ossian Publications copyright control RG
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