| On Raglan Road, on an Autumn day I saw her first and knew
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| That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might some day rue
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| I saw the danger, yet I passed along the enchanted way
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| And I said, «let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day»
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| And I said, «let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day»
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| On Grafton Street in November, we tripped lightly along the ledge
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| Of a deep ravine, where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge
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| The Queen of Hearts still making tarts, and I not making hay
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| Oh, I loved too much, and by such, by such is happiness thrown away
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| I loved too much, and by such, by such is happiness thrown away
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| I gave her gifts of the mind, I gave her the secret sign
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| That’s a-known to artists who have known true gods of sound and stone
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| And word and tint without stint for I gave her poems to say
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| With her own name there and her own dark hair
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| Like clouds o’er fields of May
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| On a quiet street, where old ghosts meet, I see her walking now
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| Away from me so hurriedly, my reason must allow
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| That I have loved not as I should a creature made of clay
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| When the Angel woos the clay, he’ll lose his wings at the dawn of day |