Patrick Kavanagh

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
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 -
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 sign
That's known to the artist who has seen the true gods of sound and stone. (*)
With 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 the 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.
When the angel woos the clay he'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.

And I said, "Let grief be a falling leaf at the dawning of the day."

The lyrics are by Patrick Kavanagh. The music is the traditional
air "The Dawning of the Day".

(*) Alternate lyric:
That's known to the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone.