Raglan Road
Van MorrisonVersion1
90
Chords in this song
Strum
D-DU-UDU
} 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
A long the en chanted 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 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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Readable chord sheet for Raglan Road by Van Morrison
[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.