Текст песни Raglan Road - The Dubliners
                                                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 
                                                    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 
                                                worth 
                                                of 
                                                passions 
                                                pledged
 
                                    
                                
                                                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 
                                                sign
 
                                    
                                
                                                That′s 
                                                known 
                                                to 
                                                the 
                                                artists 
                                                who 
                                                have 
                                                known
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                true 
                                                gods 
                                                of 
                                                sound 
                                                and 
                                                stone
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                word 
                                                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'd 
                                                lose 
                                                his 
                                                wings 
                                                at 
                                                the 
                                                dawn 
                                                of 
                                                day
 
                                    
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