[00:00.000] 作词 : Traditional
[00:01.816]On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
[00:10.143]I saw her first and knew
[00:21.516]That her dark hair would weave a snare
[00:30.655]That I may one day rue.
[00:40.403]I saw the danger,yet I walked
[00:50.156]Along the enchanted way
[00:59.343]And I said let grief be a falling leaf
[01:09.496]At the dawning of the day.
[01:19.908]On Grafton Street in November,
[01:30.165]We tripped lightly along the ledge
[01:39.711]Of a deep ravine where can be seen
[01:50.198]The worst of passions pledged.
[01:59.796]The Queen of Hearts still baking tarts
[02:11.372]And I not making hay,
[02:21.175]Well I loved too much;by such and such
[02:34.73]Is happiness thrown away.
[02:46.158]I gave her the gifts of the mind.
[02:54.741]I gave her the secret sign
[03:03.518]That's known to all the artists who have
[03:12.559]Known true Gods of Sound and Time.
[03:23.985]With word and tint I did not stint.
[03:33.867]I gave her reams of poems to say
[03:45.38]With her own dark hair and her own name there
[03:59.970]Like the clouds over fields of May.
[04:40.640]On a quiet street where old ghosts meet,
[04:49.607]I see her walking now away from me,
[05:03.558]So hurriedly.My reason must allow,
[05:20.170]For I have wooed,not as I should
[05:28.900]A creature made of clay.
[05:40.420]When the angel woos the clay,he'll lose
[05:53.678]His wings at the dawn of the day.

作词 : Traditional
On Raglan Road on an Autumn Day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I may one day rue.
I saw the danger,yet I walked
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 worst of passions pledged.
The Queen of Hearts 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 reams of poems to say
With her own dark hair and her own name there
Like the 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,
For I have wooed,not as I should
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay,he'll lose
His wings at the dawn of the day.