-- OR -- 
On raglan road ... of an autumn day
I saw her first ... and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might oneday rue
I saw the danger and I passed
Along the enchan tedway
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 passions pledged
The queen of hearts ... still making tarts
And I not making hay
Oh I loved ... too much ... and by such by such
Is hap piness thrown away
I gave her gifts ... of the mind ... I gave her the secret sign
That 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
BREAK
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