Thursday, February 6, 2014

On Raglan Road

This was a poem written in the 1940s but based on a song from the 19th century. The road is there in Dublin still. It would be an expensive area to own a house, but there are a lot of cheap flats too.

Here's a nice version (in C) from Cristin Milioti.

Waltz time.

  D                        G
On Raglan Road on an autumn day,
  D       G         D
I met her first and knew
     G                   D
That her dark hair would weave a snare,
             Bm      A
that I might one day rue
  G              D
I saw the danger yet I walked,
            Bm      A
along the enchanted way,
      D                             G
and I said: 'Let grief, be a fallen leaf
       D       G      D
at the dawning of the day'

   D                      G
On Grafton Street in November,
           D        G        D
we tripped lightly along the ledge
     G                  D
Of the deep ravine, where can be seen,
             Bm        A
the worth of passion's pledge
    G                      D
The Queen of Hearts, still making tarts,
          Bm     A
and I not making hay
      D                  
Oh, I loved too much and by such,
   G        D         G       D
by such, is happiness thrown away

  D                     G
I gave her gifts of the mind,
  D            G      D
I gave her the secret sign
       G                    D
That's known to the artists who have known,
                 Bm        A
the true gods of sound and stone
    G                  D
and word and tint. I did not stint,
           Bm       A
for I gave her poems to say
         D                                G
With her own name there, and her own dark hair,
     D           G         D
like clouds over fields of May

     D                              G
On a quiet street, where old ghosts meet,
  D       G       D
I see her walking now
 G              D
Away from me so hurriedly,
          Bm     A
my reason must allow
     G                D
That I had wooed, not as I should,
           Bm      A
a creature made of clay
         D              
When the angel woos the clay,
     G         D            G       D
he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
 

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