Look Who it Was Random video

12-string Guitar: Raglan Road

2,803 views · Published 12 May 2009 · 3:40 · Indexed 25 October 2026

Channel: threelegsoman · 2009 · Music

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Raglan Road
Patrick Kavanagh
Capo at 3rd fret

G                                                    C       G            D             G
On Raglan Road of an Autumn day I saw her first and knew, 
         C                                 G            Em             C           G              D
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might someday rue.                                                                
  C                           G       Em          C                   G            D                                                                                                                                   I saw the danger and I passed along the enchanted way.                                                                                                                      
          G                                             C                 G              D         G                                                                                                                          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 edge                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Of a deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion play.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        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 artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           And her words and tint without 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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