Traditional, words by Patrick Kavanagh, arranged by Van Morrison/Paddy Moloney
On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I may one day rue
I saw the danger, yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
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 worst of passions pledged
The Queen of Hearts still baking tarts
And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much; by such and such
Is happiness thrown away

I gave her the gifts of the mind
I gave her the secret sign
That's known to all the artists who have
Known true Gods of Sound and Time
With word and tint I did not stint
I gave her reams of poems to say
With her own dark hair and her own name there
Like the 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,
For I have 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 the day