raglan road
traditional , words by p . kavanagh , arranged by van morrison/paddy
moloney
intro : D A7 D
[ a7} on [ D ] raglan road on an autumn [ G ] day ,
i [ Bm ] saw her [ A7 ] first and [ D ] knew .
that [ G ] her dark hair would [ F#m ] weave A [ Bm ] snare
that [ D ] i may one day [ A7 ] rue .
i [ G ] saw the danger , [ F#m ] yet i [ Bm ] walked
A [ F#m ] long the en [ Bm ] chanted [ A7 ] way
and i [ D ] said let [ F#m ] grief be A [ D ] falling [ G ] leaf
at the [ Bm ] dawning [ A7 ] of the day .
on grafton street in november ,
we tripped lightly along the ledge
of a deep ravine where can be seen
the world of passions pledge .
the queen of heart’s 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 reems of poems to say
with her own dark hair and her own name there
like the clouds over fields of may .
on a quiet 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 heel lose
his wings at the dawn of the day .
raglan road
traditional , words by p . kavanagh , arranged by van morrison/paddy
moloney
intro : D A7 D
[ a7} on [ D ] raglan road on an autumn [ G ] day ,
i [ Bm ] saw her [ A7 ] first and [ D ] knew .
that [ G ] her dark hair would [ F#m ] weave A [ Bm ] snare
that [ D ] i may one day [ A7 ] rue .
i [ G ] saw the danger , [ F#m ] yet i [ Bm ] walked
A [ F#m ] long the en [ Bm ] chanted [ A7 ] way
and i [ D ] said let [ F#m ] grief be A [ D ] falling [ G ] leaf
at the [ Bm ] dawning [ A7 ] of the day .
on grafton street in november ,
we tripped lightly along the ledge
of a deep ravine where can be seen
the world of passions pledge .
the queen of heart’s 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 reems of poems to say
with her own dark hair and her own name there
like the clouds over fields of may .
on a quiet 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 heel lose
his wings at the dawn of the day .
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