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on raglan road on an autumn day i saw him first and knew |
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that his dark hair would weave a snare that i might one day rue |
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i saw the danger and yet i walked along the enchanted way |
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and i said "let grief be a falling 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 passions play |
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the queen of hearts still making tarts and i not making hay |
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but i loved too much by such and such is happiness thrown away |
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i gave him the gifts of the mind i gave him the secret sign |
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that's known to the artists who have known true gods of sound and time |
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with word and tint i never did stint i gave him reams of poems to say |
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with his own name there and his shiny black hair like the clouds over fields of may |
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on a quiet street where old ghosts meet i see him walking now |
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away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow |
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that i had wooed 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 the day |