Poem of the Week, by Patrick Cavanaugh

The Dubliners

- Patrick Kavanagh

On Raglan Road of an autumn day

I saw her first and knew

That her dark hair would weave a snare

That I might one day rue

I saw the danger and I passed

Along the enchanted way

And 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 a 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 by such

Is happiness thrown away

I gave her gifts of the mind

I gave her the secret signs

Known to the artists who have known

The true gods of sound and stone

And word and tint I did not stint

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 loved 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

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For more information on Patrick Kavanagh, please click here: http://www.tcd.ie/English/patrickkavanagh/life.html

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