| On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew | |
| That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; | |
| I saw the danger, yet I walked 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 | 5 |
| Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge, | |
| The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay - | |
| O 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 sign that's known | |
| To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone | 10 |
| And word and tint. I did not stint for 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 wooed not as I should a creature made of clay - | 15 |
